THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


GIFT  OF 

JOHN  V,  DENVER 


0 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 


BOOKS  BY 
GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

Nature  Bookt 

Tfen  SONG  OF  THE  CARDIHAL 

.FRIENDS  IN  FEATHERS 

BIRDS  or  THE  BIBLE 

Music  OF  THE  WILD' 

MOTHS  OF  THE  LlMBERLOST 

MORNING  FACE 
HOMING  WITH  THE  BIRDS 

Nature  Stories 
FRECKLES 

A  GlM.  OF  THE  LlMBERLOfiT 
AT  THB  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

THE  HARVESTER 

LADDIE 

MICHAEL  O'HALLORAN 

A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  LAND 

HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

THE  FIRE  BIRD 


••  Mary  M alone  .    .    .   slid  the  heavy  holt  into  place"  (see  page  18} 


fit  the  Foot  of 
the  f^ainboui 


Gene  Stpattoa  j?oi»tet» 


Kathoff  c*  "FneekUs,"  «Tbe 
8003  of  the  Cevdinal,"  efc». 


Paintings    in    Colo* 
Olivet*  5vetnp 

Designs    and   Decorations    by 

Seymoof 


NEW  YORK'     « 
GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 

PUBUSHEES 


Copyright,  1907, 1916,  by 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 


FMNTHD  Of  THB  UNICTU  STATES 

AT 
THE  OOWnBT  UFE  PRHH8,  QAKCEH  CRT.  V.  T. 


*  ''And  the  bow  shall  be  set  in  the  cloud;  and  I  will  look  upon  it,  that 
I  may  remember  the  everlasting  covenant  between  God  and  every 
vmg  creature  of  all  flesh  that  is  upon  the  earth/' 

— GENESIS,  bt-i6. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

Gene  Stratton-Porter.    A  Little  Story  of 

Her  Life  and  Work  ......  3 

I.     Rat-catchers  of  the  Wabash         .       .       .  51 

II.     Ruben  O'Khayam  and  the  Milk  Pail        .  67 

III.  The  Fifty  Coons  of  the  Canoper        .       .  83 

IV.  When  the  Kingfisher  and  the  Black  Bass 

Came  Home 101 

V.    When  the  Rainbow  Set  Its  Arch  in  the  Sky    .  1 17 
VI.    The  Heart  of  Mary  Malone         .       .       .139 

VII.    The  Apple  of  Discord 161 

VIII.    When  the  Black  Bass  Struck       ...  183 

IX.     When  Jimmy  Malone  Came  to  Confession  205 

X.     Dannie's  Renunciation 221 

XI.    The  Pot  of  Gold     .       ._.  _    .       .       .  239 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Mary  Malone       .      .     slid  the  heavy   bolt  into 
place" Frontispiece 

FACING   PAGB 

"She  shook  with  strangled  sobs  until  she  scarce  could 
stand  alone"         144 

"The  Black  Bass  leaped  clear  of  the  water"       .     .     196 


GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 
A  LITTLE  STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK 


GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

A  LITTLE  STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK 

FOR  several  years  Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 
have  been  receiving  repeated  requests  for  infor- 
mation about  the  life  and  books  of  Gene  Stratton- 
Porter.  Her  fascinating  nature  work  with  bird,  flower, 
and  moth,  and  the  natural  wonders  of  the  Limberlost 
Swamp,  made  famous  as  the  scene  of  her  nature  romances, 
all  have  stirred  much  curiosity  among  readers  everywhere. 

Mrs.  Porter  did  not  possess  what  has  been  called  "an 
aptitude  for  personal  publicity."  Indeed,  up  to  the  pres- 
ent, she  has  discouraged  quite  successfully  any  attempt 
to  stress  the  personal  note.  It  is  practically  impossible, 
however,  to  do  the  kind  of  work  she  has  done — to  make 
genuine  contributions  to  natural  science  by  her  wonderful 
field  work  among  birds,  insects,  and  flowers,  and  then, 
through  her  romances,  to  bring  several  hundred  thousands 
of  people  to  love  and  understand  nature  in  a  way  they 
never  did  before — without  arousing  a  legitimate  interest 
in  her  own  history,  her  ideals,  her  methods  of  work,  and 
all  that  underlies  the  structure  of  her  unusual  achieve- 
ment. 

Her  publishers  have  felt  the  pressure  of  this  growing 
interest  and  it  was  at  their  request  that  she  furnished  the 
data  for  a  biographical  sketch  that  was  to  be  written  of 


4  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

her.  But  when  this  actually  came  to  hand,  the  present 
compiler  found  that  the  author  had  told  a  story  so  much 
more  interesting  than  anything  he  could  write  of  her,  that 
it  became  merely  a  question  of  how  little  need  be  added. 
The  following  pages  are  therefore  adapted  from  what 
might  be  styled  the  personal  record  of  Gene  Stratton- 
Porter.  This  will  account  for  the  very  intimate  picture 
of  family  life  in  the  Middle  West  for  some  years  following 
the  Civil  War. 

Mark  Stratton,  the  father  of  Gene  Stratton-Porter, 
described  his  wife,  at  the  time  of  their  marriage,  as  a 
"ninety-pound  bit  of  pink  porcelain,  pink  as  a  wld  rose, 
plump  as  a  partridge,  having  a  big  rope  of  bright  brown 
hair,  never  ill  a  day  in  her  life,  and  bearing  the  loveliest 
name  ever  given  a  woman — Mary."  He  further  added 
that  "God  fashioned  her  heart  to  be  gracious,  her  body 
to  be  the  mother  of  children,  and  as  her  especial  gift  of 
Grace,  he  put  Flower  Magic  into  her  fingers." 

Mary  Stratton  was  the  mother  of  twelve  lusty  babies, 
tell  of  whom  she  reared  past  eight  years  of  age,  losing  two 
a  little  over  that,  through  an  attack  of  scarlet  fever  with 
whooping  cough;  too  ugly  a  combination  for  even  such  a 
wonderful  mother  as  she.  With  this  brood  on  her  hands 
she  found  time  to  keep  an  immaculate  house,  to  set  a  table 
renowned  in  her  part  of  the  state,  to  entertain  with  un- 
failing hospitality  all  who  came  to  her  door,  to  beautify 
her  home  with  such  means  as  she  could  command,  to 
embroider  and  fashion  clothing  by  hand  for  her  children; 
but  her  great  gift  was  conceded  by  all  to  be  the  making  of 


things  to  grow.  At  that  she  was  wonderful.  She  started 
dainty  little  vines  and  climbing  plants  from  tiny  seeds  she 
found  in  rice  and  coffee.  Rooted  things  she  soaked  in 
water,  rolled  in  fine  sand,  planted  according  to  habit,  and 
they  almost  never  failed  to  justify  her  expectations.  She 
even  grew  trees  and  shrubs  from  slips  and  cuttings  no  one 
else  would  have  thought  of  trying  to  cultivate,  her  last 
resort  being  to  cut  a  slip  diagonally,  insert  the  lower  end 
in  a  small  potato,  and  plant  as  if  rooted.  And  it  nearly 
always  grew ! 

There  is  a  shaft  of  white  stone  standing  at  her  head 
in  a  cemetery  that  belonged  to  her  on  a  corner  of  her  hus- 
band's land;  but  to  Mrs.  Porter's  mind  her  mother's  real 
monument  is  a  cedar  of  Lebanon  which  she  set  in  the 
manner  described  above.  The  cedar  tops  the  brow  of  a 
little  hill  crossing  the  grounds.  She  carried  two  slips 
from  Ohio,  where  they  were  given  to  her  by  a  man  who 
had  brought  the  trees  as  tiny  things  from  the  Holy  Land. 
She  planted  both  in  this  way,  one  in  her  dooryard  anJ 
one  in  her  cemetery.  The  tree  on  the  hill  stands  thirty 
feet  tall  now,  topping  all  others,  and  has  a  trunk  two  feet 
in  circumference. 

Mrs.  Porter's  mother  was  of  Dutch  extraction,  and 
like  all  Dutch  women  she  worked  her  special  magic  with 
bulbs,  which  she  favoured  above  other  flowers.  Tulips, 
daffodils,  star  flowers,  lilies,  dahlias,  little  bright  hyacinths, 
that  she  called  "blue  bells,"  she  dearly  loved.  From  these 
she  distilled  exquisite  perfume  by  putting  clusters,  at 
time  of  perfect  bloom,  in  bowls  lined  with  freshly  made, 
unsalted  butter,  covering  them  closely,  and  cutting  the 


6  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

few  drops  of  extract  thus  obtained  with  alcohol.  "She 
could  do  more  different  things,'*  says  the  autfear,  "and 
finish  them  all  in  a  greater  degree  of  perfection  than  any 
other  woman  I  have  ever  known.  If  I  were  limited  to  one 
adjective  in  describing  her,  'capable'  would  be  the  word." 

The  author's  father  was  descended  from  a  long  line 
of  ancestors  of  British  blood.  He  was  named  for,  and 
traced  his  origin  to,  that  first  Mark  Stratton  who  lived 
in  New  York,  married  the  famous  beauty,  Anne  Hutch- 
inson,  and  settled  on  Stratton  Island,  afterward  corrupted 
to  Staten,  according  to  family  tradition.  From  that 
point  back  for  generations  across  the  sea  he  followed  his 
line  to  the  family  of  Strattons  of  which  the  Earl  of  North* 
brooke  is  the  present  head.  To  his  British  traditions 
and  the  customs  of  his  family,  Mark  Stratton  clung  with 
rigid  tenacity,  never  swerving  from  his  course  a  particle 
under  the  influence  of  environment  or  association.  All 
his  ideas  were  clear-cut;  no  man  could  influence  him 
against  his  better  judgment.  He  believed  in  God,  in 
courtesy,  in  honour,  and  cleanliness,  in  beauty,  and  in 
education.  He  used  to  say  that  he  would  rather  see  a 
child  of  his  the  author  of  a  book  of  which  he  could  be 
proud,  than  on  the  throne  of  England,  which  was  the 
strongest  way  he  knew  to  express  himself.  His  very  first 
earnings  he  spent  for  a  book;  when  other  men  rested,  he 
read;  all  his  life  he  was  a  student  of  extraordinarily  te- 
nacious memory.  He  especially  loved  history:  Rollands, 
Wilson's  Outlines,  Hume,  Macauley,  Gibbon,  Prescott, 
and  Bancroft,  he  could  quote  from  all  of  them  paragraphs 
at  a  time  contrasting  the  views  of  different  writers  on  a 


given  event,  and  remembering  dates  with  unfailing  accu- 
racy. "He  could  repeat  the  entire  Bible,"  says  Mrs.  Strat- 
ton-Porter,  "giving  chapters  and  verses,  save  the  books  of 
Generations;  these  he  said  'were  a  waste  of  gray  matter 
to  learn/  I  never  knew  him  to  fail  in  telling  where  any 
verse  quoted  to  him  was  to  be  found  in  the  Bible."  And 
she  adds:  "I  was  almost  afraid  to  make  these  statements, 
although  there  are  many  living  who  can  corroborate  them, 
until  John  Muir  published  the  story  of  his  boyhood  days, 
and  in  it  I  found  the  history  of  such  rearing  as  was  my 
father's,  told  of  as  the  customary  thing  among  the  children 
of  Muir's  time;  and  I  have  referred  many  inquirers  as  to 
whether  this  feat  were  possible,  to  the  Muir  book.'* 

All  his  life,  with  no  thought  of  fatigue  or  of  incon- 
venience to  himself,  Mark  Stratton  travelled  miles  un- 
counted to  share  what  he  had  learned  with  those  less 
fortunately  situated,  by  delivering  sermons,  lectures, 
talks  on  civic  improvement  and  politics.  To  him  the 
love  of  God  could  be  shown  so  genuinely  in  no  other  way 
as  in  the  love  of  his  fellowmen.  He  worshipped  beauty: 
beautiful  faces,  souls,  hearts,  beautiful  landscapes,  trees, 
animals,  flowers.  He  loved  colour:  rich,  bright  colour, 
and  every  variation  down  to  the  faintest  shadings.  He 
was  especially  fond  of  red,  and  the  author  carefully 
keeps  a  cardinal  silk  handkerchief  that  he  was  carrying 
when  stricken  with  apoplexy  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
eight.  "It  was  so  like  him,"  she  comments,  "to  have  that 
scrap  of  vivid  colour  in  his  pocket.  He  never  was  too  busy 
to  fertilize  a  flower  bed  or  to  dig  holes  for  the  setting  of  a 
tree  or  bush.  A  word  constantly  on  his  lips  was  'tidy.* 


8  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

It  applied  equally  to  a  woman,  a  house,  a  field,  or  a  barn 
lot.  He  had  a  streak  of  genius  in  his  make-up:  the  genius 
of  large  appreciation.  Over  inspired  Biblical  passages, 
over  great  books,  over  sunlit  landscapes,  over  a  white 
violet  abloom  in  deep  shade,  over  a  heroic  deed  of  man,  I 
have  seen  his  brow  light  up,  his  eyes  shine." 

Mrs.  Porter  tells  us  that  her  father  was  constantly 
reading  aloud  to  his  children  and  to  visitors  descriptions 
of  the  great  deeds  of  men.  Two  "hair-raisers"  she  espe* 
cially  remembers  with  increased  heart-beats  to  this  day 
were  the  story  of  John  Maynard,  who  piloted  a  burning 
boat  to  safety  while  he  slowly  roasted  at  the  wheel.  She 
says  the  old  thrill  comes  back  when  she  recalls  the  inflec- 
tion of  her  father's  voice  as  he  would  cry  in  imitation  of 
the  captain:  "John  Maynard!"  and  then  give  the  reply 
until  it  sank  to  a  mere  gasp :  "Aye,  aye,  sir!"  His  other 
favourite  was  the  story  of  Clernanthe,  and  her  lover's 
immortal  answer  to  her  question :  "Shall  we  meet  again  ? " 

To  this  mother  at  forty-six,  and  this  father  at  fifty, 
each  at  intellectual  top-notch,  every  faculty  having  been 
stirred  for  years  by  the  dire  stress  of  Civil  War,  and  the 
period  immediately  following,  the  author  was  born.  From 
childhood  she  recalls  "thinking  things  which  she  felt 
should  be  saved,"  and  frequently  tugging  at  her  mother's 
skirts  and  begging  her  to  "set  down"  what  the  child  con- 
sidered stories  and  poems.  Most  of  these  were  some  big 
fact  in  nature  that  thrilled  her,  usually  expressed  in  Bib- 
lical terms;  for  the  Bible  was  read  twice  a  day  before  the 
family  and  helpers,  and  an  average  of  three  services  were 
attended  on  Sunday. 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK  9 

Mrs.  Porter  says  that  her  first  all-alone  effort  was 
printed  in  wabbly  letters  on  the  fly-leaf  of  an  old  gram- 
mar. It  was  entitled :  "Ode  to  the  Moon."  "Not,"  she 
comments,  "that  I  had  an  idea  what  an  'ode'  was,  other 
than  that  I  had  heard  it  discussed  in  the  family  together 
with  different  forms  of  poetic  expression.  The  spelling 
must  have  been  by  proxy:  but  I  did  know  the  words  I 
used,  what  they  meant,  and  the  idea  I  was  trying  to  con- 
vey. 

"No  other  farm  was  ever  quite  so  lovely  as  the  one 
on  which  I  was  born  after  this  father  and  mother  had 
spent  twenty-five  years  beautifying  it,"  says  the  author. 
It  was  called  "Hopewell"  after  the  home  of  some  of  her 
father's  British  ancestors.  The  natural  location  was 
perfect,  the  land  rolling  and  hilly,  with  several  flowing 
springs  and  little  streams  crossing  it  in  three  directions, 
while  plenty  of  forest  still  remained.  The  days  of  pioneer 
struggles  were  past.  The  roads  were  smooth  and  level 
as  floors,  the  house  and  barn  commodious;  the  family  rode 
abroad  in  a  double  carriage  trimmed  in  patent  leather, 
drawn  by  a  matched  team  of  gray  horses,  and  sometimes 
the  father  "speeded  a  little"  for  the  delight  of  the  children. 
"We  had  comfortable  clothing,"  says  Mrs.  Porter,  "and 
were  getting  our  joy  from  life  without  that  pinch  of  anxiety 
which  must  have  existed  in  the  beginning,  although  I  know 
that  father  and  mother  always  held  steady,  and  took  a 
large  measure  of  joy  from  life  in  passing." 

Her  mother's  health,  which  always  had  been  perfect, 
broke  about  the  time  of  the  author's  first  remembrance 
to  typhoid  fever  contracted  after  nursing  three  of  her 


io  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

children  through  it.  She  lived  for  several  years,  but  with 
continual  suffering,  amounting  at  times  to  positive  torture. 

So  it  happened,  that  led  by  impulse  and  aided  by  an 
escape  from  the  training  given  her  sisters,  instead  of 
"sitting  on  a  cushion  and  sewing  a  fine  seam" — the  threads 
of  the  fabric  had  to  be  counted  and  just  so  many  allowed 
to  each  stitch ! — this  youngest  child  of  a  numerous  house- 
hold spent  her  waking  hours  with  the  wild.  She  followed 
her  father  and  the  boys  afield,  and  when  tired  out  slept 
on  their  coats  in  fence  corners,  often  awaking  with  shy 
creatures  peering  into  her  face.  She  wandered  where  she 
pleased,  amusing  herself  with  birds,  flowers,  insects,  and 
plays  she  invented.  "By  the  day,"  writes  the  author* 
"I  trotted  from  one  object  which  attracted  me  to  another, 
singing  a  little  song  of  made-up  phrases  about  everything 
I  saw  while  I  waded  catching  fish,  chasing  butterflies  over 
clover  fields,  or  following  a  bird  with  a  hair  in  its  beak; 
much  of  the  time  I  carried  the  inevitable  baby  for  a 
woman-child,  frequently  improvised  from  an  ear  of  corn 
in  the  silk,  wrapped  in  catalpa  leaf  blankets." 

She  had  a  crrner  of  the  garden  under  a  big  Bartlett 
pear  tree  for  her  very  own,  and  each  spring  she  began 
by  planting  radishes  and  lettuce  when  the  gardening 
was  done;  and  before  these  had  time  to  sprout  she  set 
the  same  beds  full  of  spring  flowers,  and  so  followed  out 
the  season.  She  made  special  pets  of  the  birds,  locat- 
ing nest  after  nest,  and  immediately  projecting  herself  into 
the  daily  life  of  the  occupants.  "No  one,"  she  says,  "ever 
taught  me  more  than  that  the  birds  were  useful,  a  gift  of 
God  for  our  protection  from  insect  pests  on  fruit  and  crops; 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK         n 

and  a  gift  of  Grace  in  their  beauty  and  music,  things  to  be 
rigidly  protected.  From  this  cue  I  evolved  the  idea  myself 
that  I  must  be  extremely  careful,  for  had  not  my  father 
tied  a  'kerchief  over  my  mouth  when  he  lifted  me  for  a 
peep  into  the  nest  of  the  humming-bird,  and  did  he  not 
walk  softly  and  whisper  when  he  approached  the  spot? 
So  I  stepped  lightly,  made  no  noise,  and  watched  until  J 
knew  what  a  mother  bird  fed  her  young  before  I  began 
dropping  bugs,  worms,  crumbs,  and  fruit  into  little  red 
mouths  that  opened  at  my  tap  on  the  nest  quite  as  readily 
as  at  the  touch  of  the  feet  of  the  mother  bird." 

In  the  nature  of  this  child  of  the  out-of-doors  there  ran 
a  fibre  of  care  for  wild  things.  It  was  instinct  with  her 
to  go  slowly,  to  touch  lightly,  to  deal  lovingly  with  every 
living  thing:  flower,  moth,  bird,  or  animal.  She  never 
gathered  great  handfuls  of  frail  wild  flowers,  carried  them 
an  hour  and  threw  them  away.  If  she  picked  any,  she 
took  only  a  few,  mostly  to  lay  on  her  mother's  pillow — for 
she  had  a  habit  of  drawing  comfort  from  a  cinnamon  pink 
or  a  trillium  laid  where  its  delicate  fragrance  reached  her 
with  every  breath.  "I  am  quite  sure,"  Mrs.  Porter 
writes,  "that  I  never  in  my  life",  in  picking  flowers,  drag- 
ged up  the  plant  by  the  roots,  as  I  frequently  saw  other 
people  do.  I  was  taught  from  infancy  to  cut  a  bloom  I 
wanted.  My  regular  habit  was  to  lift  one  plant  of  each 
kinJ,  especially  if  it  were  a  species  new  to  me,  and  set  it 
in  my  wild-flower  garden." 

To  the  birds  and  flowers  the  child  added  moths  and 
butterflies,  because  she  saw  them  so  frequently,  the  bril- 
liance of  colour  in  yard  and  garden  attracting  more  than 


12  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

could  be  found  elsewhere.  So  she  grew  with  the  wild, 
Io\ing,  studying,  giving  all  her  time.  "I  fed  butterflies 
sweetened  water  and  rose  leaves  inside  the  screen  of  a 
cellar  window,"  Mrs.  Porter  tells  us;  "doctored  all  the 
sick  and  wounded  birds  and  animals  the  men  brought  me 
from  Afield;  made  pets  of  the  baby  squirrels  and  rabbits 
they  carried  in  for  my  amusement;  collected  wild  flowers; 
and  as  I  grew  older,  gathered  arrow  points  and  goose  quills 
for  sale  in  Fort  Wayne.  So  I  had  the  first  money  I  ever 
earned." 

Her  father  and  mother  had  strong  artistic  tendencies, 
although  they  would  have  scoffed  at  the  idea  themselves, 
yet  the  manner  in  which  they  laid  off  their  fields,  the  home 
they  built,  the  growing  things  they  preserved,  the  way 
they  planted,  the  life  they  led,  all  go  to  prove  exactly 
that  thing.  Their  bush-  and  vine-covered  fences  crept 
around  the  acres  they  owned  in  a  strip  of  gaudy  colour; 
their  orchard  lay  in  a  valley,  a  square  of  apple  trees  in 
the  centre  widely  bordered  by  peach,  so  that  it  appeared 
at  bloom  time  like  a  great  pink-bordered  white  blanket  on 
the  face  of  earth.  Swale  they  might  have  drained,  and 
would  not,  made  sheets  of  blue  flag,  marigold  and  butter- 
cups. From  the  home  you  could  not  look  in  any  direction 
without  seeing  a  picture  of  beauty. 

"Last  spring,"  the  author  writes  in  a  recent  letter,  "I 
v/ent  back  with  my  mind  fully  made  up  to  buy  tha'  'and 
at  any  reasonable  price,  restore  it  to  the  exact  condition 
in  which  I  knew  it  as  a  child,  and  finish  my  life  there.  I 
found  that  the  house  had  been  burned,  killing  all  the  big 
trees  set  by  my  mother's  hands  immediately  surrounding 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK         13 

ft.  The  hills  were  shorn  and  ploughed  down,  filling  and 
obliterating  the  creeks  and  springs.  Most  of  the  forest 
had  been  cut,  and  stood  in  corn.  My  old  catalpa  in  the 
fence  corner  beside  the  road  and  the  Bartlett  pear  under 
which  I  had  my  wild-flower  garden  were  all  that  was  left 
of  the  dooryard,  while  a  few  gnarled  apple  trees  remained 
of  the  orchard,  which  had  been  reset  in  another  place- 
The  garden  had  been  moved,  also  the  lanes;  the  one  creek 
remaining  out  of  three  crossed  the  meadow  at  the  foot  of 
the  orchard.  It  flowed  a  sickly  current  over  a  dredged 
bed  between  bare,  straight  banks.  The  whole  place  seemed 
worse  than  a  dilapidated  graveyard  to  me.  All  my  love 
and  ten  times  the  money  I  had  at  command  never  could 
have  put  back  the  face  of  nature  as  I  knew  it  on  that 
land." 

As  a  child  the  author  had  very  few  books,  only  three 
of  her  own  outside  of  school  books.  "The  markets  did 
not  afford  the  miracles  common  with  the  children  of  to- 
day," she  adds.  "Books  are  now  so  numerous,  so  cheap, 
and  so  bewildering  in  colour  and  make-up,  that  I  some- 
times think  our  children  are  losing  their  perspective  and 
caring  for  none  of  them  as  I  loved  my  few  plain  little  ones 
filled  with  short  story  and  poem,  almost  no  illustration. 
I  had  a  treasure  house  in  the  school  books  of  my  elders, 
especially  the  McGuffey  series  of  Readers  from  One  to  Six. 
For  pictures  I  was  driven  to  the  Bible,  dictionary,  his- 
torical works  read  by  my  father,  agricultural  papers,  and 
medical  books  about  cattle  and  sheep. 

"Near  the  time  of  my  mother's  passing  we  moved  from 
Hopewell  to  the  city  of  Wabash  in  order  that  she  might 


14  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

have  constant  medical  attention,  and  the  younger  chil 
dren  better  opportunities  for  schooling.  Here  we  had 
magazines  and  more  books  in  which  I  was  interested.  The 
one  volume  in  which  my  heart  was  enwrapt  was  a  col- 
lection of  masterpieces  of  fiction  belonging  to  my  eldest 
sister.  It  contained  'Paul  and  Virginia/  'Undine,'  'Pic- 
ciola,'  'The  Vicar  of  Wakefield/  'Pilgrim's  Progress,'  and 
several  others  I  soon  learned  by  heart,  and  the  reading  and 
rereading  of  those  exquisitely  expressed  and  conceived 
stories  may  have  done  much  in  forming  high  conceptions 
of  what  really  constitutes  literature  and  in  furthering  the 
lofty  ideals  instilled  by  my  parents.  One  of  these  stories 
formed  the  basis  of  my  first  publicly  recognized  literary 
effort." 

Reared  by  people  who  constantly  pointed  out  every 
natural  beauty,  using  it  wherever  possible  to  drive  home 
a  precept,  the  child  lived  out-of-doors  with  the  wild  almost 
entirely.  If  she  reported  promptly  three  times  a  day 
when  the  bell  rang  at  meal  time,  with  enough  clothing  to 
constitute  a  decent  covering,  nothing  more  was  asked 
until  the  Sabbath.  To  be  taken  from  such  freedom,  her 
feet  shod,  her  body  restricted  by  as  much  clothing  as  ever 
had  been  worn  on  Sunday,  shut  up  in  a  schoolroom,  and 
set  to  droning  over  books,  most  of  which  she  detested, 
was  the  worst  punishment  ever  inflicted  upon  her  she  de- 
clares. She  hated  mathematics  in  any  form  and  spent 
all  her  time  on  natural  science,  language,  and  literature. 
"Friday  afternoon,"  writes  Mrs.  Porter,  "was  always 
taken  up  with  an  exercise  called  'rhetoricals,'  a  misnomer 
as  a  rule,  but  let  that  pass.  Each  week  pupils  of  one  of 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK         15 

the  four  years  furnished  entertainment  for  the  assembled 
high  school  and  faculty.  Our  subjects  were  always  as- 
signed, and  we  cordially  disliked  them.  This  particular 
day  I  was  to  have  a  paper  on  'Mathematical  Law/  ( 

"I  put  off  the  work  until  my  paper  had  been  called  for 
several  times,  and  so  came  to  Thursday  night  with  excuses 
and  not  a  line.  I  was  told  to  bring  my  work  the  next 
morning  without  fail.  I  went  home  in  hot  anger.  Why 
in  all  this  beautiful  world,  would  they  not  allow  me  to  do 
something  I  could  do,  and  let  any  one  of  four  members 
of  my  class  who  revelled  in  mathematics  do  my  subject? 
That  evening  I  was  distracted.  'I  can't  do  a  paper  on 
mathematics,  and  I  won't!'  I  said  stoutly;  'but  I'll  do 
such  a  paper  on  a  subject  I  can  write  about  as  will  open 
their  foolish  eyes  and  make  them  see  how  wrong  they  are.' 

"Before  me  on  the  table  lay  the  book  I  loved,  the  most 
wonderful  story  in  which  was  'Picciola'  by  Saintine.  In- 
stantly I  began  to  write.  Breathlessly  I  wrote  for  hours. 
I  exceeded  our  limit  ten  times  over.  The  poor  Italian 
Count,  the  victim  of  political  offences,  shut  by  Napoleon 
from  the  wonderful  grounds,  mansion,  and  life  that  were 
his,  restricted  to  the  bare  prison  walls  of  Fenestrella,  de- 
prived of  books  and  writing  material,  his  one  interest  in 
life  became  a  sprout  of  green,  sprung,  no  doubt,  from  a 
seed  dropped  by  a  passing  bird,  between  the  stone  flagging 
of  the  prison  yard  before  his  window.  With  him  I  had 
watched  over  it  through  all  the  years  since  I  first  had  ac- 
cess to  the  book;  with  him  I  had  prayed  for  it.  I  had 
broken  into  a  cold  sweat  of  fear  when  the  jailer  first 
menaced  it;  I  had  hated  the  wind  that  bent  it  roughly^ 


i6  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

I 

and  implored  the  sun.  I  had  sung  a  paean  of  joy  at  its 
budding,  and  worshipped  in  awe  before  its  thirty  per* 
feet  blossoms.  The  Count  had  named  it  'Picciola' — 
the  little  one — to  me  also  it  was  a  personal  possession. 
That  night  we  lived  the  life  of  our  *  little  one*  over  again, 
the  Count  and  I,  and  never  were  our  anxieties  and  our 
joys  more  poignant. 

"Next  morning,"  says  Mrs.  Porter,  "I  dared  my  crowd 
to  see  how  long  they  could  remain  on  the  grounds,  and  yet 
reach  the  assembly  room  before  the  last  toll  of  the  bell. 
This  scheme  worked.  Coming  in  so  late  the  principal 
opened  exercises  without  remembering  my  paper.  Again, 
at  noon,  I  was  as  late  as  I  dared  be,  and  I  escaped  until 
near  the  close  of  the  exercises,  through  which  I  sat  in  cold 
fear.  When  my  name  was  reached  at  last  the  principal 
looked  at  me  inquiringly  and  then  announced  my  inspiring 
mathematical  subject.  I  arose,  walked  to  the  front,  and 
made  my  best  bow.  Then  I  said:  'I  waited  until  yester- 
day because  I  knew  absolutely  nothing  about  my  subject* 
— the  audience  laughed — 'and  I  could  find  nothing  either 
here  or  in  the  library  at  home,  so  last  night  I  reviewed 
Saintine's  masterpiece,  "Picciola.": 

"Then  instantly  I  began  to  read.  I  was  almost  paralyzed 
at  my  audacity,  and  with  each  word  I  expected  to  hear  a 
terse  little  interruption.  Imagine  my  amazement  when  I 
heard  at  the  end  of  the  first  page:  'Wait  a  minute!'  Of 
course  I  waited,  and  the  principal  left  the  loom.  A 
moment  later  she  reappeared  accompanied  by  the  super- 
intendent of  the  city  schools.  'Begin  again,'  she  said. 
'Take  your  time/ 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK         17 

I  was  too  amazed  to  speak.  Then  thought  came  in  a 
My  paper  was  good.  It  was  as  good  as  I  had  be- 
lieved it.  It  was  better  than  I  had  known.  I  did  go  on! 
We  took  that  assembly  room  and  the  corps  of  teachers  into 
our  confidence,  the  Count  and  I,  and  told  them  all  that 
was  in  our  hearts  about  a  little  flower  that  sprang  between 
the  paving  stones  of  a  prison  yard.  The  Count  and  I  were 
free  spirits.  From  the  book  I  had  learned  that.  He  got 
into  political  trouble  through  it,  and  I  had  got  into  mathe- 
matical trouble,  and  we  told  our  troubles.  One  instant 
the  room  was  in  laughter,  the  nex-l:  the  boys  bowed  their 
heads,  and  the  girls  who  had  forgotten  their  handkerchiefs 
cried  in  their  aprons.  For  almost  sixteen  big  foolscap 
pages  I  held  them,  and  I  was  eager  to  go  on  and  tell  them 
more  about  it  when  I  reached  the  last  line.  Never  again 
was  a  subject  forced  upon  me." 

After  this  incident  of  her  schooldays,  what  had  been  in- 
clination before  was  aroused  to  determination  and  the  child 
neglected  her  lessons  to  write.  A  volume  of  crude  verse 
fashioned  after  the  metre  of  Meredith's  "Lucile,"  a  ro- 
mantic book  in  rhyme,  and  two  novels  were  the  fruits  of 
this  youthful  ardour.  Through'the  sickness  and  death  of 
a  sister,  the  author  missed  the  last  three  months  of  school, 
but,  she  remarks,  "unlike  my  schoolmates,  I  studied  harder 
after  leaving  school  than  ever  before  and  in  a  manner  that 
did  me  real  good.  The  most  that  can  be  said  of  what  edu- 
cation I  have  is  that  it  is  the  very  best  kind  in  the  world 
for  me;  the  only  possible  kind  that  would  not  ruin  a  person 
of  my  inclinations.  The  others  of  my  family  had  been  to 
college;  I  always  have  been  too  thankful  for  words  that 


18  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

circumstances  intervened  which  saved  my  brain  from  being 
run  through  a  groove  in  company  with  dozens  of  others  of 
widely  different  tastes  and  mentality.  What  small  meas- 
ure of  success  I  have  had  has  come  through  preserving  my 
individual  point  of  view,  method  of  expression,  and  follow- 
ing in  after  life  the  Spartan  regulations  of  my  girlhood 
home.  Whatever  I  have  been  able  to  do,  has  been  done 
through  the  line  of  education  my  father  saw  fit  to  give  mev 
and  through  his  and  my  mother's  methods  of  rearing  me. 

"My  mother  went  out  too  soon  to  know,  and  my  father 
never  saw  one  of  the  books;  but  he  knew  I  was  boiling  and 
bubbling  like  a  yeast  jar  in  July  over  some  literary  work, 
and  if  I  timidly  slipped  to  him  with  a  composition,  or  a 
faulty  poem,  he  saw  good  in  it,  and  made  suggestions  for 
its  betterment.  When  I  wanted  to  express  something  in 
colour,  he  went  to  an  artist,  sketched  a  design  for  an  easel, 
personally  superintended  the  carpenter  who  built  it,  and 
provided  tuition.  On  that  same  easel  I  painted  the  water 
colours  for  'Moths  of  the  Limberlost/  and  one  of  the  most 
poignant  regrets  of  my  life  is  that  he  was  not  there  to  see 
them,  and  to  know  that  the  easel  which  he  built  through 
his  faith  in  me  was  finally  used  in  illustrating  a  book. 

"If  I  thought  it  was  music  through  which  I  could  express 
myself,  he  paid  for  lessons  and  detected  hidden  ability  that 
should  be  developed.  Through  the  days  of  struggle  he 
stood  fast;  firm  in  his  belief  in  me.  He  was  half  the  battle. 
It  was  he  who  demanded  a  physical  standard  that  de- 
veloped strength  to  endure  the  rigours  of  scientific  field  and 
darkroom  work,  and  the  building  often  books  in  ten  years, 
five  of  which  were  on  nature  subjects,  having  my  own  illus- 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK         19 

trations,  and  five  novels,  literally  teeming  with  natural 
history,  true  to  nature.  It  was  he  who  demanded  of  me 
from  birth  the  finishing  of  any  task  I  attempted  and  who 
taught  me  to  cultivate  patience  to  watch  and  wait,  even 
years,  if  necessary,  to  find  and  secure  material  I  wanted. 
It  was  he  who  daily  lived  before  me  the  life  of  exactly  such 
a  man  as  I  portrayed  in  'The  Harvester,'  and  who  con- 
stantly used  every  atom  of  brain  and  body  power  to  help 
and  to  encourage  a!5  men  to  do  the  same." 

Marriage,  a  home  of  her  own,  and  a  daughter  for  a  time 
filled  the  author's  hands,  but  never  her  whole  heart  and 
brain.  The  book  fever  lay  dormant  a  while,  and  then  it  be- 
came a  compelling  influence.  It  dominated  the  life  she 
lived,  the  cabin  she  designed  for  their  home,  and  the  books 
she  read.  When  her  daughter  was  old  enough  to  go  to 
school,  Mrs.  Porter's  time  came.  Speaking  of  this  period, 
she  says:  "I  could  not  afford  a  maid,  but  I  was  very  strong, 
vital  to  the  marrow,  and  I  knew  how  to  manage  life  to 
make  it  meet  my  needs,  thanks  to  even  the  small  amount  I 
had  seen  of  my  mother.  I  kept  a  cabin  of  fourteen  rooms, 
and  kept  it  immaculate.  I  made  most  of  my  daughter's 
clothes,  I  kept  a  conservatory  in  Which  there  bloomed  from 
three  to  six  hundred  bulbs  every  winter,  tended  a  house  of 
canaries  and  linnets,  and  cooked  and  washed  dishes  besides 
three  times  a  day.  In  my  spare  time  (mark  the  word,  there 
was  time  to  spare  else  the  books  never  would  have  been 
written  and  the  pictures  made)  I  mastered  photography  to 
such  a  degree  that  the  manufacturers  of  one  of  our  finest 
brands  of  print  paper  once  sent  the  manager  of  their 
factory  to  me  to  learn  how  I  handled  it.  He  frankly  said 


20  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

that  they  could  obtain  no  such  results  with  it  as  I  did.  He 
wanted  to  see  my  darkroom,  examine  my  paraphernalia, 
and  have  me  tell  him  exactly  how  I  worked.  As  I  was 
using  the  family  bathroom  for  a  darkroom  and  washing 
negatives  and  prints  on  turkey  platters  in  the  kitchen,  1 
was  rather  put  to  it  when  it  came  to  giving  an  exhibition, 
It  was  scarcely  my  fault  if  men  could  not  handle  the  paper 
they  manufactured  so  that  it  produced  the  results  that  I 
obtained,  so  I  said  I  thought  the  difference  might  lie  in  the 
chemical  properties  of  the  water,  and  sent  this  man  on  his 
way  satisfied.  Possibly  it  did.  But  I  have  a  shrewd  sus- 
picion it  lay  in  high-grade  plates,  a  careful  exposure,  ju» 
dicious  development,  with  self-compounded  chemicals 
straight  from  the  factory,  and  C.  P.  I  think  plates  swabbed 
with  wet  cotton  before  development,  intensified  if  of  short 
exposure,  and  thoroughly  swabbed  again  before  drying^ 
had  much  to  do  with  it;  and  paper  handled  in  the  same 
painstaking  manner  had  more.  I  have  hundreds  of  nega- 
tives in  my  closet  made  twelve  years  ago,  in  perfect  con- 
dition for  printing  from  to-day,  and  I  never  have  lost  'a 
plate  through  fog  from  imperfect  development  and  hasty 
washing;  so  my  little  mother's  rule  of  'whatsoever  thy 
hands  find  to  do,  do  it  with  thy  might/  held  good  in 
photography." 

Thus  had  Mrs.  Porter  made  time  to  study  and  to  write, 
and  editors  began  to  accept  what  she  sent  them  with  little 
if  any  changes.  She  began  by  sending  photographic  and 
natural  history  hints  to  Recreation,  and  with  the  first  in- 
stallment was  asked  to  take  charge  of  the  department  and 
furnish  material  each  month  for  which  she  was  to  be  paid 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK         ai 

at  current  prices  in  high-grade  photographic  material.  We 
can  form  some  idea  of  the  work  she  did  under  this  arrange- 
ment from  the  fact  that  she  had  over  one  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  equipment  at  the  end  of  the  first  year.  The 
second  year  she  increased  this  by  five  hundred,  and  then 
accepted  a  place  on  the  natural  history  staff  of  Outing, 
working  closely  with  Mr.  Casper  Whitney.  After  a  year 
of  this  helpful  experience  Mrs.  Porter  began  to  turn  her 
attention  to  what  she  calls  "nature  studies  sugar  coated 
with  fiction."  Mixing  some  childhood  fact  with  a  large 
degree  of  grown-up  fiction,  she  wrote  a  little  story  entitled 
" Laddie,  the  Princess,  and  the  Pie." 

"I  was  abnormally  sensitive,"  says  the  author,  "about 
trying  to  accomplish  any  given  thing  and  failing.  I  had 
been  taught  in  my  home  that  it  was  black  disgrace  to 
undertake  anything  and  fail.  My  husband  owned  a  drug 
and  book  store  that  carried  magazines,  and  it  was  not  pos- 
sible to  conduct  departments  in  any  of  them  and  not  have 
it  known;  but  only  a  few  people  in  our  locality  read  these 
publications,  none  of  them  were  interested  in  nature  pho- 
tography, or  natural  science,  so  what  I  was  trying  to  do  was 
not  realized  even  by  my  own  family. 

"With  them  I  was  much  more  timid  than  with  the 
neighbours.  Least  of  all  did  I  want  to  fail  before  my  man 
person  and  my  daughter  and  our  respective  families;  so  I 
worked  in  secret,  sent  in  my  material,  and  kept  as  quiet 
about  it  as  possible.  On  Outing  I  had  graduated  from  the 
camera  department  to  an  illustrated  article  each  month, 
and  as  this  kept  up  the  year  round,  and  few  illustrations 
could  be  made  in  winter,  it  meant  that  I  must  secure 


22  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

enough  photographs  of  wild  life  in  summer  to  last  during 
the  part  of  the  year  when  few  were  to  be  had. 

"Every  fair  day  I  spent  afield,  and  my  little  black  horse 
and  load  of  cameras,  ropes,  and  ladders  became  a  familiar 
sight  to  the  country  folk  of  the  Limberlost,  in  Rainbow 
Bottom,  the  Canoper,  on  the  banks  of  the  Wabash,  in 
woods  and  thickets  and  beside  the  roads;  but  few  people 
understood  what  I  was  trying  to  do,  none  of  them  what  it 
would  mean  were  I  to  succeed.  Being  so  afraid  of  failure  and 
the  inevitable  ridicule  in  a  community  where  I  was  already 
severly  criticised  on  account  of  my  ideas  of  housekeeping, 
dress,  and  social  customs,  I  purposely  kept  everything  I  did 
as  quiet  as  possible.  It  had  to  be  known  that  I  was  in- 
terested in  everything  afield,  and  making  pictures;  also 
that  I  was  writing  field  sketches  for  nature  publications, 
but  little  was  thought  of  it,  save  as  one  more  'peculiarity* 
in  me.  So  when  my  little  story  was  finished  I  went  to  our 
store  and  looked  over  the  magazines.  I  chose  one  to 
which  we  did  not  subscribe,  having  an  attractive  cover, 
good  type,  and  paper,  and  on  the  back  of  an  old  envelope, 
behind  the  counter,  I  scribbled:  Perriton  Maxwell,  116 
Nassau  Street,  New  York,  and  sent  my  story  on  its  way. 

"Then  I  took  a  bold  step,  the  first  in  my  self-emancipa- 
tion. Money  was  beginning  to  come  in,  and  I  had  some  in 
my  purse  of  my  very  own  that  I  had  earned  when  no  one 
even  knew  I  was  working.  I  argued  that  if  I  kept  my 
family  so  comfortable  that  they  missed  nothing  from  their 
usual  routine,  it  was  my  right  to  do  what  I  could  toward 
furthering  my  personal  ambitions  in  what  time  I  could 
save  from  my  housework.  And  until  I  could  earn  enough 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK         23 

to  hire  capable  people  to  take  my  place,  I  held  rigidly  te 
that  rule.  I  who  waded  morass,  fought  quicksands,  crept^ 
worked  from  ladders  high  in  air,  and  crossed  water  on  im- 
provised rafts  without  a  tremor,  slipped  with  many  mis- 
givings into  the  postoffice  and  rented  a  box  for  myself,  so 
that  if  I  met  with  failure  my  husband  and  the  men  in  the 
bank  need  not  know  what  I  had  attempted.  That  was 
early  May;  all  summer  I  waited.  I  had  heard  that  it  re- 
quired a  long  time  for  an  editor  to  read  and  to  pass  on 
matter  sent  him;  but  my  waiting  did  seem  out  of  all  reason. 
I  was  too  busy  keeping  my  cabin  and  doing  field  work  to 
repine;  but  I  decided  in  my  own  mind  that  Mr.  Maxwell 
was  a  'mean  old  thing'  to  throw  away  my  story  and  keep 
the  return  postage.  Besides,  I  was  deeply  chagrined,  for  I 
had  thought  quite  well  of  my  effort  myself,  and  this 
seemed  to  prove  that  I  did  not  know  even  the  first 
principles  of  what  would  be  considered  an  interesting 
story. 

"Then  one  day  in  September  I  went  into  our  store  on  an 
en  and  and  the  manager  said  to  me:  'I  read  your  story  in 
the  Metropolitan  last  night.  It  was  great!  Did  you  ever 
write  any  fiction  before?'  , 

"My  head  whirled,  but  I  had  learned  to  keep  my  own 
counsels,  so  I  said  as  lightly  as  I  could,  while  my  heart  beat 
until  I  feared  he  could  hear  it:  'No.  Just  a  simple  little 
thing!  Have  you  any  spare  copies  ?  My  sister  might  want 
one.' 

"He  supplied  me,  so  I  hurried  home,  and  shutting 
myself  in  the  library,  I  sat  down  to  look  my  first  attempt 
at  fiction  in  the  face.  I  quite  agreed  with  the  manager 


24  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

that  it  was  'great.'  Then  I  wrote  Mr.  Maxwell  a  note 
telling  him  that  I  had  seen  my  story  in  his  magazine,  and 
saying  that  I  was  glad  he  liked  it  enough  to  use  it.  I  had 
not  known  a  letter  could  reach  New  York  and  bring  a  reply 
so  quickly  as  his  answer  came.  It  was  a  letter  that  warmed 
the  deep  of  my  heart.  Mr.  Maxwell  wrote  that  he  liked 
my  story  very  much,  but  the  office  boy  had  lost  or  de- 
stroyed my  address  with  the  wrappings,  so  after  waiting 
a  reasonable  length  of  time  to  hear  from  me,  he  had  illus- 
trated it  the  best  he  could,  and  printed  it.  He  wrote 
that  so  many  people  had  spoken  to  him  of  a  new,  fresh  note 
in  it,  that  he  wished  me  to  consider  doing  him  another 'in 
a  similar  vein  for  a  Christmas  leader  and  he  enclosed  my 
very  first  check  for  fiction. 

"So  I  wrote:  'How  Laddie  and  the  Princess  Spelled 
Down  at  the  Christmas  Bee.'  Mr.  Maxwell  was  pleased 
to  accept  that  also,  with  what  I  considered  high  praise, 
and  to  ask  me  to  furnish  the  illustrations.  He  specified 
that  he  wanted  a  frontispiece,  head  and  tail  pieces,  and 
six  or  seven  other  illustrations.  Counting  out  the  time 
for  his  letter  to  reach  me,  and  the  material  to  return,  I 
was  left  with  just  one  day  in  which  to  secure  the  pictures. 
They  had  to  be  of  people  costumed  in  the  time  of  the  early 
seventies  and  I  was  short  of  print  paper  and  chemicals. 
First,  I  telephoned  to  Fort  Wayne  for  the  material  I 
wanted  to  be  sent  without  fail  on  the  afternoon  train. 
Then  I  drove  to  the  homes  of  the  people  I  wished  to  use 
for  subjects  and  made  appointments  for  sittings,  and 
ransacked  the  cabin  for  costumes.  The  letter  came  on 
the  eight  A.  M.  train.  At  ten  o'clock  I  was  photographing 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK        25 

Colonel  Lupton  beside  my  dining-room  fireplace  for  the 
father  in  the  story.  At  eleven  I  was  dressing  and  posing 
Miss  Lizzie  Huart  for  the  Princess.  At  twelve  I  was  pictur- 
ing in  one  of  my  bedrooms  a  child  who  served  finely  for  Lit- 
tle Sister,  and  an  hour  later  the  same  child  in  a  cemetery 
three  miles  in  the  country  where  I  used  mounted  butter- 
flies from  my  cases,  and  potted  plants  carried  from  my  con- 
servatory, for  a  graveyard  scene.  The  time  was  early 
November,  but  God  granted  sunshine  that  day,  and  short 
focus  blurred  the  background.  At  four  o'clock  I  was  at 
the  schoolhouse,  and  in  the  best-lighted  room  with  five  or 
six  models,  I  was  working  on  the  spelling  bee  scenes.  By 
six  I  was  in  the  darkroom  developing  and  drying  these 
plates,  every  one  of  which  was  good  enough  to  use.  I 
did  my  best  work  with  printing-out  paper,  but  I  was 
zompelled  to  use  a  developing  paper  in  this  extremity, 
because  it  could  be  worked  with  much  more  speed,  dried 
a  little  between  blotters,  and  mounted.  At  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning  I  was  typing  the  quotations  for  the  pic- 
tures, at  four  the  parcel  stood  in  the  hall  for  the  six  o'clock 
train,  and  I  realized  that  I  wanted  a  drink,  food,  and  sleep, 
for  I  had  not  stopped  a  second  for 'anything  from  the  time 
of  reading  Mr.  Maxwell's  letter  until  his  order  was  ready 
to  mail.  For  the  following  ten  years  I  was  equally  prompt 
in  doing  all  work  I  undertook,  whether  pictures  or  manu- 
script, without  a  thought  of  consideration  for  self;  and  I 
disappointed  the  confident  expectations  of  my  nearest  and 
dearest  by  remaining  sane,  normal,  and  almost  without 
exception  the  health!  st  woman  they  knew." 
This  story  and  its  pictures  were  much  praised,  and  in  the 


26  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

following  year  the  author  was  asked  for  several  stories, 
and  even  used  bird  pictures  and  natural  history  sketches, 
quite  an  innovation  for  a  magazine  at  that  time.  With 
this  encouragement  she  wrote  and  illustrated  a  short 
story  of  about  ten  thousand  words,  and  sent  it  to  the 
Century.  Richard  Watson  Gilder  advised  Mrs.  Porter 
to  enlarge  it  to  book  size,  which  she  did.  This  book  is 
"The  Cardinal."  Following  Mr.  Gilder's  advice,  she 
recast  the  tale  and,  starting  with  the  mangled  body  of 
a  cardinal  some  marksman  had  left  in  the  road  she  was 
travelling,  in  a  fervour  of  love  for  the  birds  and  indig- 
nation at  the  hunter,  she  told  the  Cardinal's  life  history 
in  these  pages. 

The  story  was  promptly  accepted  and  the  book  was 
published  with  very  beautiful  half-tones,  and  cardinal 
buckram  cover.  Incidentally,  neither  the  author's  hus- 
band nor  daughter  had  the  slightest  idea  she  was  attempt- 
ing to  write  a  book  until  work  had  progressed  to  that  stage 
where  she  could  not  make  a  legal  contract  without  her 
husband's  signature.  During  the  ten  years  of  its  life 
this  book  has  gone  through  eight  different  editions,  vary- 
ing in  form  and  make-up  from  the  birds  in  exquisite  colour, 
as  colour  work  advanced  and  became  feasible,  to  a  bind- 
ing of  beautiful  red  morocco,  a  number  of  editions  of  differ- 
ing design  intervening.  One  was  tried  in  gray  binding, 
the  colour  of  the  female  cardinal,  with  the  red  male  used 
as  an  inset.  Another  was  woods  green  with  the  red  male, 
and  another  red  with  a  wild  rose  design  stamped  in.  There 
is  a  British  edition  published  by  Hodder  and  Stoughton. 
All  of  these  had  the  author's  own  illustrations  which  au- 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK        27 

thorities  agree  are  the  most  complete  studies  of  the  home 
life  and  relations  of  a  pair  of  birds  ever  published. 

The  story  of  these  illustrations  in  "The  Cardinal"  and 
how  the  author  got  them  will  be  a  revelation  to  most 
readers.  Mrs.  Porter  set  out  to  make  this  the  most  com- 
plete set  of  bird  illustrations  ever  secured,  in  an  effort  to 
awaken  people  to  the  wonder  and  beauty  and  value  of  the 
birds.  She  had  worked  around  half  a  dozen  nests  for  two 
years  and  had  carried  a  lemon  tree  from  her  conservatory 
to  the  location  of  one  nest,  buried  the  tub,  and  introduced 
the  branches  among  those  the  birds  used  in  approaching 
their  home  that  she  might  secure  proper  illustrations  for 
the  opening  chapter,  which  was  placed  in  the  South. 
When  the  complete  bird  series  was  finished,  the  difficult 
work  over,  and  there  remained  only  a  few  characteristic 
Wabash  River  studies  of  flowers,  vines,  and  bushes  for 
chapter  tail  pieces  to  be  secured,  the  author  "met  her 
Jonah,"  and  her  escape  was  little  short  of  a  miracle. 

After  a  particularly  strenuous  spring  afield,  one  teem- 
ing day  in  early  August  she  spent  the  morning  in  the  river 
bottom  beside  the  Wabash.  A  heavy  rain  followed  by 
August  sun  soon  had  her  dripping, while  she  made  several 
studies  of  wild  morning  glories,  but  she  was  particularly 
careful  to  wrap  up  and  drive  slowly  going  home,  so  that 
she  would  not  chill.  In  the  afternoon  the  author  went  to 
the  river  northeast  of  town  to  secure  mallow  pictures  for 
another  chapter,  and  after  working  in  burning  sun  on  the 
river  bank  until  exhausted,  she  several  times  waded  the 
river  to  examine  bushes  on  the  opposite  bank.  On  the 
way  home  she  had  a  severe  chill,  and  for  the  following 


28  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

three  weeks  lay  twisted  in  the  convulsion?  of  congestion, 
insensible  most  of  the  time.  Skilled  doctors  and  nurses 
did  their  best,  which  they  admitted  would  have  availed 
nothing  if  the  patient  had  not  had  a  constitution  without 
a  flaw  upon  which  to  work. 

"This  is  the  history/*  said  Mrs.  Porter,  "of  one  little 
tail  piece  among  the  pictures.  There  were  about  thirty 
others,  none  so  strenuous,  but  none  easy,  each  having  a 
living,  fighting  history  for  me.  If  I  were  to  give  in  detail 
the  story  of  the  two  years'  work  required  to  secure  the  set 
of  bird  studies  illustrating  'The  Cardinal,'  it  would  make 
a  much  larger  book  than  the  life  of  the  bird." 

"The  Cardinal"  was  published  in  June  of  1903.  On 
the  2Oth  of  October,  1904,  "Freckles"  appeared.  Mrs. 
Porter  had  been  delving  afield  with  all  her  heart  and 
strength  for  several  years,  and  in  the  course  of  her  work 
had  spent  every  other  day  for  three  months  in  the  Lim- 
berlost  swamp,  making  a  series  of  studies  of  the  nest  of  a 
black  vulture.  Early  in  her  married  life  she  had  met  a 
Scotch  lumberman,  who  told  her  of  the  swamp  and  of 
securing  fine  timber  there  for  Canadian  shipbuilders,  and 
later  when  she  had  moved  to  within  less  than  a  mile  of  it* 
northern  boundary,  she  met  a  man  who  was  buying  curly 
maple,  black  walnut,  golden  oak,  wild  cherry,  and  other 
wood  extremely  valuable  for  a  big  furniture  factory  in 
Grand  Rapids.  There  was  one  particular  woman,  of  all 
those  the  author  worked  among,  who  exercised  herself  most 
concerning  her.  She  never  failed  to  come  out  if  she  saw 
her  driving  down  the  lane  to  the  woods,  and  caution  her 
to  be  careful.  If  she  felt  that  Mrs.  Porter  had  becomo 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND,  WORK        29 

interested  and  forgotten  that  it  was  long  past  meal  time, 
she  would  send  out  food  and  water  or  buttermilk  to  refresh 
her.  She  had  her  family  posted,  and  >f  any  of  them  saw 
a  bird  with  a  straw  or  a  hair  in  its  beak,  they  followed  until 
they  found  its  location.  It  was  her  husband  who  drove 
the  stake  and  ploughed  around  the  killdeer  nest  in  the 
cornfield  to  save  it  for  the  author;  and  he  did  many  other 
acts  of  kindness  without  understanding  exactly  what  he 
was  doing  or  why.  "Merely  that  I  wanted  certain  things 
was  enough  for  those  people,"  writes  Mrs.  Porter.  "With- 
out question  they  helped  me  in  every  way  their  big  hearts 
could  suggest  to  them,  because  they  loved  to  be  kind,  and 
to  be  generous  was  natural  with  them.  The  woman  was 
busy  keeping  house  and  mothering  a  big  brood,  and  every 
living  creature  that  came  her  way,  besides.  She  took 
me  in,  and  I  put  her  soul,  body,  red  head,  and  all,  into 
Sarah  Duncan.  The  lumber  and  furniture  man  I  com- 
bined in  McLean.  Freckles  was  a  composite  of  certain 
ideals  and  my  own  field  experiences,  merged  with  those  of 
Mr.  Bob  Burdette  Black,  who,  at  the  expense  of  much 
time  and  careful  work,  had  done  more  for  me  than  any 
other  ten  men  afield.  The  Angel  was  an  idealized  picture 
«f  my  daughter. 

"I  dedicated  the  book  to  my  husband,  Mr.  Charles  Dar- 
win Porter,  for  several  reasons,  the  chiefest  being  that  he 
deserved  it.  When  word  was  brought  me  by  lumbermen 
of  the  nest  of  the  Black  Vulture  in  the  Limberlost,  I 
hastened  to  tell  my  husband  the  wonderful  story  of  the  big 
black  bird,  the  downy  white  baby,  the  pale  blue  egg,  and  to 
beg  back  a  rashly  made  promise  not  to  work  in  the  Limber- 


30  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

lost.  Being  a  natural  history  enthusiast  himself,  he  agreed 
that  I  must  go;  but  he  qualified  the  assent  with  the  proviso 
that  no  one  less  careful  of  me  than  he,  might  accompany 
me  there.  His  business  had  forced  him  to  allow  me  to 
work  alone,  with  hired  guides  or  the  help  of  oilmen  and 
farmers  elsewhere;  but  a  Limberlost  trip  at  that  time  was 
not  to  be  joked  about.  It  had  not  been  shorn,  branded, 
and  tamed.  There  were  most  excellent  reasons  why  1 
should  not  go  there.  Much  of  it  was  impenetrable.  Only  a 
few  trees  had  been  taken  out;  oilmen  were  just  invading  it. 
In  its  physical  aspect  it  was  a  treacherous  swamp  and  quag- 
mire filled  with  every  plant,  animal,  and  human  danger 
known  in  the  worst  of  such  locations  in  the  Central  States. 
"A  rod  inside  the  swamp  on  a  road  leading  to  an  oil  well 
we  mired  to  the  carriage  hubs.  I  shielded  my  camera,  in 
my  arms  and  before  we  reached  the  well  I  thought  the  con- 
veyance would  be  torn  to  pieces  and  the  horse  stalled.  At 
the  well  we  started  on  foot,  Mr.  Porter  in  kneeboots,  1  in 
waist-high  waders.  The  time  was  late  June;  we  forced 
our  way  between  steaming,  fetid  pools,  through  swarms  of 
gnats,  flies,  mosquitoes,  poisonous  insects,  keeping  a  sharp 
watch  for  rattlesnakes.  We  sank  ankle  deep  at  every  step, 
and  logs  we  thought  solid  broke  under  us.  Our  progress 
was  a  steady  succession  of  prying  and  pulling  each  other  to 
the  surface.  Our  clothing  was  wringing  wet,  and  the  ex- 
posed parts  of  our  bodies  lumpy  with  bites  and  stings.  My 
husband  found  the  tree,  cleared  the  opening  to  the  great 
prostrate  log,  traversed  its  unspeakable  odours  for  nearly 
forty  feet  to  its  farthest  recess,  and  brought  the  baby  and 
egg  to  the  light  in  his  leaf-lined  hat. 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK         31 

"We  could  endure  the  location  only  by  dipping  napkins 
m  deodorant  and  binding  them  over  our  mouths  and 
nostrils.  Every  third  day  for  almost  three  months  we 
made  this  trip,  until  Little  Chicken  was  able  to  take  wing. 
Of  course  we  soon  made  a  road  to  the  tree,  grew  accustomed 
to  the  disagreeable  features  of  the  swamp  and  contempt- 
uously familiar  with  its  dangers,  so  that  I  worked  any- 
where in  it  I  chose  with  other  assistance;  but  no  trip  was  so 
hard  and  disagreeable  as  the  first.  Mr.  Porter  insisted 
upon  finishing  the  Little  Chicken  series,  so  that  *  deserve* 
is  a  poor  word  for  any  honour  that  might  accrue  to  him  for 
his  part  in  the  book." 

This  was  the  nucleus  of  the  book,  but  the  story  itself 
originated  from  the  fact  that  one  day,  while  leaving  the 
swamp,  a  big  feather  with  a  shaft  over  twenty  inches  long 
came  spinning  and  swirling  earthward  and  fell  in  the 
author's  path.  Instantly  she  looked  upward  to  locate  the 
bird,  which  from  the  size  and  formation  of  the  quill  could 
have  been  nothing  but  an  eagle;  her  eyes,  well  trained  and 
fairly  keen  though  they  were,  could  not  see  the  bird,  which 
must  have  been  soaring  above  range.  Familiar  with  the 
life  of  the  vulture  family,  the  author  changed  the  bird 
from  which  the  feather  fell  to  that  described  in  "Freckles." 
Mrs.  Porter  had  the  old  swamp  at  that  time  practically  un- 
touched, and  all  its  traditions  to  work  upon  and  stores  of 
natural  history  material.  This  falling  feather  began  the 
book  which  in  a  few  days  she  had  definitely  planned  and  in 
six  months  completely  written.  Her  title  for  it  was  "The 
Falling  Feather,"  that  tangible  thing  which  came  drifting 
down  from  Nowhere,  just  as  the  boy  came,  and  she  has 


32  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

always  regretted  the  change  to  "  Freckles."  John  Murray 
publishes  a  British  edition  of  this  book  which  is  even  better 
liked  in  Ireland  and  Scotland  than  in  England. 

As  "The  Cardinal"  was  published  originally  not  by 
Doubleday,  Page  &  Company,  but  by  another  firm,  the 
author  had  talked  over  with  the  latter  house  the  scheme 
of  "Freckles"  and  it  had  been  agreed  to  publish  the  story 
as  soon  as  Mrs.  Porter  was  ready.  How  the  book  finally 
came  to  Doubleday,  Page  &  Company  she  recounts  as 
follows: 

"By  the  time  'Freckles'  was  finished,  I  had  exercised 
my  woman's  prerogative  and  'changed  my  mind ';  so  I  sent 
the  manuscript  to  Doubleday,  Page  &  Company,  who 
accepted  it.  They  liked  it  well  enough  to  take  a  special  in- 
terest in  it  and  to  bring  it  out  with  greater  expense  than  it 
was  at  all  customary  to  put  upon  a  novel  at  that  time;  and 
this  in  face  of  the  fact  that  they  had  repeatedly  warned  me 
that  the  nature  work  in  it  would  kill  fully  half  its  chances 
with  the  public.  Mr.  F.  N.  Doubleday,  starting  on  a  trip 
to  the  Bahamas,  remarked  that  he  would  like  to  take  a 
manuscript  with  him  to  read,  and  the  office  force  decided 
to  put  'Freckles'  into  his  grip.  The  story  of  the  plucky 
young  chap  won  his  way  to  the  heart  of  the  publishers, 
under  a  silk  cotton  tree,  'neath  bright  southern  skies,  and 
made  such  a  friend  of  him  that  through  the  years  of  its 
book-life  it  has  been  the  object  of  special  attention.  Mr. 
George  Doran  gave  me  a  photograph  which  Mr.  Horace 
MacFarland  made  of  Mr.  Doubleday  during  this  reading 
of  the  Mss.  of  'Freckles'  which  is  especially  interesting." 

That  more  than  2,000,000  readers  have  found  pleasure 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK         33 

and  profit  in  Mrs.  Porter's  books  is  a  cause  for  particular 
gratification.  These  stories  all  have,  as  a  fundamental 
reason  of  their  existence,  the  author's  great  love  of  nature. 
To  have  imparted  this  love  to  others — to  have  inspired 
many  hundreds  of  thousands  to  look  for  the  first  time  with 
seeing  eyes  at  the  pageant  of  the  out-of-doors — is  a  satis- 
faction that  must  endure.  For  the  part  of  the  publishers, 
they  began  their  business  by  issuing  "Nature  Books"  at  a 
time  when  the  sale  of  such  works  was  problematical.  As 
their  tastes  and  inclinations  were  along  the  same  lines 
which  Mrs.  Porter  loved  to  follow,  it  gave  them  great  pleas- 
ure to  be  associated  with  her  books  which  opened  the  eyes 
of  so  great  a  public  to  new  and  worthy  fields  of  enjoy- 
ment. 

The  history  of  "Freckles"  is  unique.  The  publishers 
had  inserted  marginal  drawings  on  many  pages,  but  these, 
instead  of  attracting  attention  to  the  nature  charm  of  the 
book,  seemed  to  have  exactly  a  contrary  effect.  The 
public  wanted  a  novel.  The  illustrations  made  it  appear 
to  be  a  nature  book,  and  it  required  three  long  slow  years 
for  "Freckles"  to  pass  from  hand  to  hand  and  prove  that 
there  really  was  a  novel  between  th«  covers,  but  that  it  was 
a  story  that  took  its  own  time  and  wound  slowly  toward  its 
end,  stopping  its  leisurely  course  for  bird,  flower,  lichen 
face,  blue  sky,  perfumed  wind,  and  the  closest  intimacies 
of  the  daily  life  of  common  folk.  Ten  years  havve  wrought 
a  great  change  in  the  sentiment  against  nature  work  and 
the  interest  in  it.  Thousands  who  then  looked  upon  the 
world  with  unobserving  eyes  are  now  straining  every  nerve 
to  accumulate  enough  to  be  able  to  end  life  where  th«y 


34  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

may    have    bird,   flower,    and    tree    for   daily    compan- 
ions. 

Mrs.  Porter's  account  of  the  advice  she  received  at  this 
time  is  particularly  interesting.  Three  editors  who  read 
"Freckles"  before  it  was  published  offered  to  produce  it, 
but  all  of  them  expressed  precisely  the  same  opinion:  "The 
book  will  never  sell  well  as  it  is.  If  you  want  to  live  from 
the  proceeds  of  your  work,  if  you  want  to  sell  even  moder- 
ately, you  must  cut  out  the  nature  stuff."  "Now  to  put  in 
the  nature  stuff"  continues  the  author,  "was  the  express 
purpose  for  which  the  book  had  been  written.  I  had  had 
one  year's  experience  with  'The  Song  of  the  Cardinal/ 
frankly  a  nature  book,  and  from  the  start  I  realized  that  I 
never  could  reach  the  audience  I  wanted  with  a  book  on 
nature  alone.  To  spend  time  writing  a  book  based  wholly 
upon  human  passion  and  its  outworking  I  would  not.  So  I 
compromised  on  a  book  into  which  I  put  all  the  nature 
work  that  came  naturally  within  its  scope,  and  seasoned  it 
with  little  bits  of  imagination  and  straight  copy  from  the 
lives  of  men  and  women  I  had  known  intimately,  folk  who 
lived  in  a  simple,  common  way  with  which  I  was  familiar. 
So  I  said  to  my  publishers:  'I  will  write  the  books  exactly 
as  they  take  shape  in  my  mind.  You  publish  them.  I 
know  they  will  sell  enough  that  you  will  not  lose.  If  I  do 
not  make  over  six  hundred  dollars  on  a  book  I  shall  never 
utter  a  complaint.  Make  up  my  work  as  I  think  it  should 
be  and  leave  it  to  che  people  as  to  what  kind  of  book  they 
will  take  into  their  hearts  and  homes.'  I  altered  'Freckles' 
slightly,  but  from  that  time  on  we  worked  on  this  agree- 
ment. 


35 

"My  years  of  nature  work  have  not  been  without  con- 
siderable insight  into  human  nature,  as  well,"  continues 
Mrs.  Porter.  "I  know  its  failings,  its  inborn  tendencies, 
its  weaknesses,  its  failures,  its  depth  of  crime;  and  the 
people  who  feel  called  upon  to  spend  their  time  analyzing, 
digging  into,  and  uncovering  these  sources  of  depravity 
have  that  privilege,  more's  the  pity!  If  I  had  my  way 
about  it,  this  is  a  privilege  Jio  one  could  have  in  books  in- 
tended for  indiscriminate  circulation.  I  stand  squarely 
for  book  censorship,  and  I  firmly  believe  that  with  a  few 
more  years  of  such  books,  as  half  a  dozen  I  could  mention, 
public  opinion  will  demand  this  very  thing.  My  life  has 
been  fortunate  in  one  glad  way:  I  have  lived  mostly  in  the 
country  and  worked  in  the  woods.  For  every  bad  man 
and  woman  I  have  ever  known,  I  have  met,  lived  with,  and 
am  intimately  acquainted  with  an  overwhelming  number 
of  thoroughly  clean  and  decent  people  who  still  believe  in 
God  and  cherish  high  ideals,  and  it  is  upon  the  lives  of  these 
that  I  base  what  I  write.  To  contend  that  this  does  not  pro- 
duce a  picture  true  to  life  is  idiocy.  It  does.  It  produces 
a  picture  true  to  ideal  life;  to  the  best  that  good  men  and 
good  women  can  do  at  level  best.  - 

"I  care  very  little  for  the  magazine  or  newspaper  critics 
who  proclaim  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  moral  man, 
and  that  my  pictures  of  life  are  sentimental  and  idealized. 
They  are !  And  I  glory  in  them !  They  are  straight,  living 
pictures  from  the  lives  of  men  and  women  of  morals, 
honour,  and  loving  kindness.  They  form  'idealized  pic- 
tures of  life'  because  they  are  copies  from  life  where  it 
touches  religion,  chastity,  love,  home,  and  hope  of  Keaven 


36  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

ultimately.  None  of  these  roads  leads  to  publicity  and  the 
divorce  court.  They  all  end  in  the  shelter  and  seclusion  of 
a  home. 

"Such  a  big  majority  of  book  critics  and  authors  have 
begun  to  teach,  whether  they  really  believe  it  or  not,  that 
no  book  is  true  to  life  unless  it  is  true  to  the  worst  in  life,  that 
the  idea  has  infected  even  the  women." 

In  1906,  having  seen  a  few  of  Mrs.  Porter's  studies  of 
bird  life,  Mr.  Edward  Bok  telegraphed  the  author  asking 
to  meet  him  in  Chicago.  She  had  a  big  portfolio  of  fine 
prints  from  plates  for  which  she  had  gone  to  the  last  ex- 
tremity of  painstaking  care,  and  the  result  was  an  order 
from  Mr.  Bok  for  a  six  months'  series  in  the  Ladies'  Home 
Journal  of  the  author's  best  bird  studies  accompanied  by 
descriptions  of  how  she  secured  them.  This  material  was 
later  put  in  book  form  under  the  title,  "What  I  Have 
Done  with  Birds,"  and  is  regarded  as  authoritacive  on  the 
subject  of  bird  photography  and  bird  life,  for  in  truth  it 
covers  every  phase  of  the  life  of  the  birds  described,  and 
contains  much  of  other  nature  subjects. 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Porter  had  made  a  contract  with  her 
publishers  to  alternate  her  books.  She  agreed  to  do  a 
nature  book  for  love,  and  then,  by  way  of  compromise,  a 
piece  of  nature  work  spiced  with  enough  fiction  to  tempt 
her  class  of  readers.  In  this  way  she  hoped  that  they 
would  absorb  enough  of  the  nature  work  while  reading  the 
fiction  to  send  them  afield,  and  at  the  same  time  keep  in 
their  minds  her  picture  of  what  she  considers  the  only  life 
worth  living.  She  was  still  assured  that  only  a  straight 
novel  would  "pay,"  but  she  was  living,  meeting  all  her  ex- 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK         37 

penses,  giving  her  family  many  luxuries,  and  saving  a  little 
sum  for  a  rainy  day  she  foresaw  on  her  horoscope.  To  be 
comfortably  clothed  and  fed,  to  have  time  and  tools  for  her 
work,  is  all  she  ever  has  asked  of  life. 

Among  Mrs.  Porter's  readers  "At  the  Foot  of  the  Rain- 
bow" stands  as  perhaps  the  author's  strongest  piece  of 
fiction. 

In  August  of  1909  two  books  on  which  the  author  had 
been  working  for  years  culminated  at  the  same  time:  a 
nature  novel,  and  a  straight  nature  book.  The  novel 
was,  in  a  way,  a  continuation  of  "Freckles,"  filled  as 
usual  with  wood  lore,  but  more  concerned  with  moths 
than  birds.  Mrs.  Porter  had  been  finding  and  picturing 
exquisite  big  night  flyers  during  several  years  of  field  work 
among  the  birds,  and  from  what  she  could  have  readily 
done  with  them  she  saw  how  it  would  be  possible  for  a  girl 
rightly  constituted  and  environed  to  make  a  living,  and  a 
good  one,  at  such  work.  So  was  conceived  "A  Girl  of 
the  Limberlost."  "This  comes  fairly  close  to  my  idea 
of  a  good  book,"  she  writes.  "No  possible  harm  can  be 
done  any  one  in  reading  it.  The  book  can,  and  does, 
present  a  hundred  pictures  that  will  draw  any  reader  in 
closer  touch  with  nature  and  the  Almighty,  my  primal 
object  in  each  line  I  write.  The  human  side  of  the  book 
is  as  close  a  character  study  as  I  am  capable  of  making. 
I  regard  the  character  of  Mrs.  Comstock  as  the  best 
thought-out  and  the  cleanest-cut  study  of  human  nature 
I  have  so  far  been  able  to  do.  Perhaps  the  best  justifica- 
tion of  my  idea  of  this  book  came  to  me  recently  when  I 
received  an  application  from  the  President  for  permission 


38  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

to  translate  it  into  Arabic,  as  the  first  book  to  be  used  in  an 
effort  to  introduce  our  methods  of  nature  study  into  the 
College  of  Cairo." 

Hodder  and  Stoughton  of  London  published  the  Brit- 
ish edition  of  this  work. 

At  the  same  time  that  "A  Girl  of  the  Limberlost"  was 
published  there  appeared  the  book  called  "Birds  of  the 
Bible."  This  volume  took  shape  slowly.  The  author 
made  a  long  search  for  each  bird  mentioned  in  the  Bible, 
how  often,  where,  why;  each  quotation  concerning  it  in 
the  whole  book,  every  abstract  reference,  why  made,  by 
whom,  and  what  it  meant.  Then  slowly  dawned  the 
sane  and  true  things  said  of  birds  in  the  Bible  compared 
with  the  amazing  statements  of  Aristotle,  Aristophanes, 
Pliny,  and  other  writers  of  about  the  same  period  in  pagan 
nations.  This  led  to  a  search  for  the  dawn  of  bird  history 
and  for  the  very  first  pictures  preserved  of  them.  On  this 
book  the  author  expended  more  work  than  on  any  other 
she  has  ever  written. 

In  1911  two  more  books  for  which  Mrs.  Porter  had 
gathered  material  for  long  periods  came  to  a  conclusion 
on  the  same  date:  "Music  of  the  Wild"  and  "The  Har- 
vester." The  latter  of  these  was  a  nature  novel;  the  other 
a  frank  nature  book,  filled  with  all  outdoors — a  special 
study  of  the  sounds  one  hears  in  fields  and  forests,  and 
photographic  reproductions  of  the  musicians  and  their 
instruments. 

The  idea  of  "The  Harvester"  was  suggested  to  the 
author  by  an  editor  who  wanted  a  magazine  article,  with 
human  interest  in  it,  about  the  ginseng  diggers  in  her  part 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK         39 

of  the  country.  Mr.  Porter  had  bought  ginseng  for  years 
for  a  drug  store  he  owned;  there  were  several  people  he 
knew  still  gathering  it  for  market,  and  growing  it  was  be- 
coming a  good  business  all  over  the  country.  Mrs.  Porter 
learned  from  the  United  States  Pharmacopaeia  and  from 
various  other  sources  that  the  drug  was  used  mostly  by 
the  Chinese,  and  with  a  wholly  mistaken  idea  of  its  prop- 
erties. The  strongest  thing  any  medical  work  will  say 
for  ginseng  is  that  it  is  "a  very  mild  and  soothing  drug."  It 
seems  that  the  Chinese  buy  and  use  it  in  enormous  quan* 
tides,  in  the  belief  that  it  is  a  remedy  for  almost  every 
disease  to  which  humanity  is  heir;  that  it  will  prolong  life, 
and  that  it  is  a  wonderful  stimulant.  Ancient  medical 
works  make  this  statement,  laying  special  emphasis  upon 
its  stimulating  qualities.  The  drug  does  none  of  these 
things.  Instead  of  being  a  stimulant,  it  comes  closer  to  a 
sedative.  This  investigation  set  the  author  on  the  search 
for  other  herbs  that  now  are  or  might  be  grown  as  an 
occupation.  Then  came  the  idea  of  a  man  who  should 
grow  these  drugs  professionally,  and  of  the  sick  girl  healed 
by  them.  "I  could  have  gone  to  work  and  started  a  drug 
farm  myself,"  remarks  Mrs.  Porter,  "with  exactly  the 
same  profit  and  success  as  the  Harvester.  I  wrote  pri- 
marily to  state  that  to  my  personal  knowledge,  clean, 
loving  men  still  exist  in  this  world,  and  that  no  man  is 
forced  to  endure  the  grind  of  city  life  if  he  wills  otherwise. 
Any  one  who  likes,  with  even  such  simple  means  as  herbs 
he  can  dig  from  fence  corners,  may  start  a  drug  farm  that 
in  a  short  time  will  yield  him  delightful  work  and  inde- 
pendence. /  wrote  the  book  as  I  thought  it  should  be  written, 


40  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

to  provf  my  points  and  establish  my  contentions.  I  think 
it  did.  Men  the  globe  around  promptly  wrote  me  that  they 
always  had  observed  the  moral  code;  others  that  the  subject 
never  in  all  their  lives  had  been  presented  to  them  from 
my  point  of  view,  but  now  that  it  had  been,  they  would 
change  and  do  what  they  could  to  influence  all  men  to  do  the 


same." 


Messrs.  Hodder  and  Stoughton  publish  a  British  edi- 
tion of  "The  Harvester,"  there  is  an  edition  in  Scandi- 
navian, it  was  running  serially  in  a  German  magazine, 
but  for  a  time  at  least  the  German  and  French  edi- 
tions that  were  arranged  will  be  stopped  by  this  war, 
as  there  was  a  French  edition  of  "The  Song  of  the  Car- 
dinal." 

After  a  short  rest,  the  author  began  putting  into  shape 
a  book  for  which  she  had  been  compiling  material  since  the 
beginning  of  field  work.  From  the  first  study  she  made  of 
an  exquisite  big  night  moth,  Mrs.  Porter  used  every  op- 
portunity to  secure  more  and  representative  studies  of 
each  family  in  her  territory,  and  eventually  found  the  work 
so  fascinating  that  she  began  hunting  cocoons  and  raising 
caterpillars  in  order  to  secure  life  histories  and  make  illus- 
trations with  fidelity  to  life.  "It  seems,"  comments  the 
author,  "that  scientists  and  lepidopterists  from  the  be- 
ginning have  had  no  hesitation  in  describing  and  using 
mounted  moth  and  butterfly  specimens  for  book  text  and 
illustration,  despite  the  fact  that  their  colours  fade  rapidly, 
that  the  wings  are  always  in  unnatural  positions,  and 
the  bodies  shrivelled.  I  would  quite  as  soon  accept  the 
mummy  of  any  particular  member  of  the  Rameses  family 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK        41 

as  a  fair  representation  of  the  living  man,  as  a  mounted 
moth  for  a  live  one." 

When  she  failed  to  secure  the  moth  she  wanted  in  a 
Jiving  and  perfect  specimen  for  her  studies,  the  author  set 
out  to  raise  one,  making  photographic  studies  from  the 
eggs  through  tne  entire  life  process.  There  was  one  June 
during  which  she  scarcely  slept  for  more  than  a  few  hours 
of  daytime  the  entire  month.  She  turned  her  bedroom 
into  a  hatchery,  where  were  stored  the  most  precious  co- 
coons; and  if  she  lay  down  at  night  it  was  with  those 
she  thought  would  produce  moths  before  morning  on  her 
pillow,  where  she  could  not  fail  to  hear  them  emerging.  At 
the  first  sound  she  would  be  up  with  notebook  in  hand,  and 
by  dawn,  busy  with  cameras.  Then  she  would  be  forced 
to  hurry  to  the  darkroom  and  develop  her  plates  in  order 
to  be  sure  that  she  had  a  perfect  likeness,  before  releasing 
the  specimen,  for  she  did  release  all  she  produced  except 
one  pair  of  each  kind,  never  having  sold  a  moth,  personally. 
Often  where  the  markings  were  wonderful  and  compli- 
cated, as  soon  as  the  wings  were  fully  developed  Mrs. 
Porter  copied  the  living  specimen  in  water  colours  for  her 
illustrations,  frequently  making  several  copies  in  order  to 
be  sure  that  she  laid  on  the  colour  enough  brighter  than  her 
subject  so  that  when  it  died  it  would  be  exactly  the  same 
shade. 

"Never  in  all  my  life,"  writes, the  author,  "have  I  had 
such  exquisite  joy  in  work  as  I  nad  in  painting  the  illus- 
trations for  this  volume  of  'Moths  of  the  Limberlost/ 
Colour  work  had  advanced  to  such  a  stage  that  I  knew 
from  the  beautiful  reproductions  in  Arthur  Rackham's 


42  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

'Rheingold  and  Valkyrie*  and  several  other  books  on  the 
market,  that  time  so  spent  would  not  be  lost.  Mr. 
Doubleday  had  assured  me  personally  that  I  might  count 
on  exact  reproduction,  and  such  details  of  type  and  paper 
as  I  chose  to  select.  I  used  the  easel  made  for  me  when  a 
girl,  under  the  supervision  of  my  father,  and  I  threw  my 
whole  heart  into  the  work  of  copying  each  line  and  delicate 
shading  on  those  wonderful  wings,  'all  diamonded  with 
panes  of  quaint  device,  innumerable  stains  and  splendid 
dyes/  as  one  poet  describes  them.  There  were  times,  when 
in  working  a  mist  of  colour  over  another  background,  I  cut 
a  brush  down  to  three  hairs.  Some  of  these  illustrations  I 
sent  back  six  and  seven  times,  to  be  worked  over  before  the 
illustration  plates  were  exact  duplicates  of  the  originals, 
and  my  heart  ached  for  the  engravers,  who  must  have  had 
Job-like  patience;  but  it  did  not  ache  enough  to  stop  me 
until  I  felt  the  reproduction  exact.  This  book  tells  its  own 
story  of  long  and  patient  waiting  for  a  specimen,  of  watch- 
ing, of  disappointments,  and  triumphs.  I  love  it  especially 
among  my  book  children  because  it  represents  my  highest 
ideals  in  the  making  of  a  nature  book,  and  I  can  take  any 
skeptic  afield  and  prove  the  truth  of  the  natural  history  it 
contains." 

In  August  of  1913  the  author's  novel  "Laddie"  was  pub- 
lished in  New  York,  London,  Sydney  and  Toronto  simul- 
taneously. This  book  contains  the  same  mixture  of  ro» 
mance  and  nature  interest  as  the  others,  and  is  modelled  on 
the  same  plan  of  introducing  nature  objects  peculiar  to  the 
location,  and  characters,  many  of  whom  are  from  life, 
typical  of  the  locality  at  a  given  period.  The  first  thing 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK         43 

many  critics  said  of  it  was  that  "no  such  people  ever  ex- 
isted, and  no  such  life  was  ever  lived."  In  reply  to  this  the 
author  said:  "Of  a  truth,  the  home  I  described  in  this  book 
I  knew  to  the  last  grain  of  wood  in  the  doors,  and  I  painted 
it  with  absolute  accuracy;  and  many  of  the  people  I  de- 
scribed I  knew  more  intimately  than  I  ever  have  known 
any  others.  Taken  as  a  whole  it  re-presents  a  perfectly 
faithful  picture  of  home  life,  in  a  family  who  were  reared  and 
educated  exactly  as  this  book  indicates.  There  was  such  a 
man  as  Laddie,  and  he  was  as  much  bigger  and  better  than 
my  description  of  him  as  a  real  thing  is  always  better  than 
its  presentment.  The  only  difference,  barring  the  nature 
work,  between  my  books  and  those  of  many  other  writers, 
is  that  I  prefer  to  describe  and  to  perpetuate  the  best  I 
have  known  in  life;  whereas  many  authors  seem  to  feel 
that  they  have  no  hope  of  achieving  a  high  literary  stand- 
ing unless  they  delve  in  and  reproduce  the  worst. 

"To  deny  that  wrong  and  pitiful  things  exist  in  life  is 
folly,  but  to  believe  that  these  things  are  made  better  by 
promiscuous  discussion  at  the  hands  of  writers  -who/ail  to 
prove  by  their  books  that  their  viewpoint  is  either  right, 
clean,  or  helpful,  is  close  to  insanity.  If  there  is  to  be  any 
error  on  either  side  in  a  book,  then  God  knows  it  is  far 
better  that  it  should  be  upon  the  side  of  pure  sentiment 
and  high  ideals  than  upon  that  of  a  too  loose  discussion  of 
subjects  which  often  open  to  a  large  part  of  the  world  their 
first  knowledge  of  such  forms  of  sin,  profligate  expenditure, 
and  waste  of  life's  best  opportunities.  There  is  one  great 
beauty  in  idealized  romance:  reading  it  can  make  no  one 
worse  than  he  is,  while  it  may  help  thousands  to  a  cleaner 


44  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

life  and  higher  inspiration  than  they  ever  before  have 
known." 

M 

Mrs.  Porter  has  written  ten  books,  and  it  is  not  out  of 
place  here  to  express  her  attitude  toward  them.  Each  was 
written,  she  says,  from  her  heart's  best  impulses.  They 
are  as  clean  and  helpful  as  she  knew  how  to  make  them,  as 
beautiful  and  interesting.  She  has  never  spared  herself  in 
the  least  degree,  mind  or  body,  when  it  came  to  giving  her 
best,  and  she  has  never  considered  money  in  relation  to 
what  she  was  writing. 

During  the  hard  work  and  exposure  of  those  early  years, 
during  rainy  days  and  many  nights  in  the  darkroom,  she 
went  straight  ahead  with  field  work,  sending  around  the 
globe  for  books  and  delving  to  secure  material  for  such 
books  as  "Birds  of  the  Bible,"  "Music  of  the  Wild,"  and 
"Moths  of  the  Limberlost."  Every  day  devoted  to  such 
work  was  "commercially"  lost,  as  publishers  did  not  fail  to 
tell  her.  But  that  was  the  work  she  could  do,  and  do  with 
exceeding  joy.  She  could  do  it  better  pictorially,  on  ac- 
count of  her  lifelong  knowledge  of  living  things  afield,  than 
any  other  woman  had  as  yet  had  the  strength  and  nerve  to 
do  it.  It  was  work  in  which  she  gloried,  and  she  persisted. 
"Had  I  been  working  for  money,"  comments  the  author, 
"not  one  of  these  nature  books  ever  would  have  been 
written,  or  an  illustration  made." 

When  the  public  had  discovered  her  and  given  generous 
approval  to  "A  Girl  of  the  Limberlost,"  when  "The 
Harvester"  had  established  a  new  record,  that  would  have 
been  the  time  for  the  author  to  prove  her  commercialism 
by  dropping  nature  work,  and  plunging  headlong  into 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK         45 

books  it  would  pay  to  write,  and  for  which  many  pub- 
lishers were  offering  alluring  sums.  Mrs.  Porter's  answer 
was  the  issuing  of  such  books  as  "Music  of  the  Wild"  and 
"Moths  of  the  Limberlost."  No  argument  is  necessary. 
Mr.  Edward  Shuman,  formerly  critic  of  the  Chicago 
Record-Heraldy  was  impressed  by  this  method  of  work  and 
pointed  it  out  in  a  review.  It  appealed  to  Mr.  Shuman, 
when  "Moths  of  the  Limberlost"  came  in  for  review,  fol- 
lowing the  tremendous  success  of  "The  Harvester,"  that 
had  the  author  been  working  for  money,  she  could  have 
written  half  a  dozen  more  "Harvesters"  while  putting 
seven  years  of  field  work,  on  a  scientific  subject,  into  a  per- 
sonally illustrated  work. 

In  an  interesting  passage  dealing  with  her  books,  Mrs. 
Porter  writes:  "I  have  done  three  times  the  work  on  my 
books  of  fiction  that  I  see  other  writers  putting  into  a 
novel,  in  order  to  make  all  natural  history  allusions  accurate 
and  to  write  them  in  such  fashion  that  they  will  meet  with 
the  commendation  of  high  schools,  colleges,  and  univer- 
sities using  what  I  write  as  text  books,  and  for  the  homes 
that  place  them  in  their  libraries.  I  am  perfectly  willing 
to  let  time  and  the  hearts  of  the  people  set  my  work  in  its 
ultimate  place.  I  have  no  delusions  concerning  it. 

"To  my  way  of  thinking  and  working  the  greatest  serv- 
ice a  piece  of  fiction  can  do  any  reader  is  to  leave  him 
with  a  higher  ideal  of  life  than  he  had  when  he  began.  If 
in  one  small  degree  it  shows  him  where  he  can  be  a  gentler, 
saner,  cleaner,  kindlier  man,  it  is  a  wonder-working  book. 
If  it  opens  his  eyes  to  one  beauty  in  nature  he  never  saw 
for  himself,  and  leads  him  one  step  toward  the  God  of  the 


46  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

Universe,  it  is  a  beneficial  book,  for  one  step  into  the 
miracles  of  nature  leads  to  that  long  walk,  the  glories  of 
which  so  strengthen  even  a  boy  who  thinks  he  is  dying, 
that  he  faces  his  struggle  like  a  gladiator." 

During  the  past  ten  years  thousands  of  people  have  sent 
the  author  word  that  through  her  books  they  have  been  led 
afield  and  to  their  first  realization  of  the  beauties  of  nature. 
Her  mail  brings  an  average  of  ten  such  letters  a  day, 
mostly  from  students,  te'achers,  and  professional  people  of 
our  largest  cities.  It  can  probably  be  said  in  all  truth  of 
her  nature  books  and  nature  novels,  that  in  the  past  ters 
years  they  have  sent  more  people  afield  than  all  the 
scientific  writings  of  the  same  period.  That  is  a  big  state- 
ment, but  it  is  very  likely  pretty  close  to  the  truth.  Mrs. 
Porter  has  been  asked  by  two  London  and  one  Edinburgh 
publishers  for  the  privilege  of  bringing  out  complete  sets  of 
her  nature  books,  but  as  yet  she  has  not  felt  ready  to  do 
this. 

In  bringing  this  sketch  of  Gene  Stratton-Porter  to  a  close 
it  will  be  interesting  to  quote  the  author's  own  words 
describing  the  Limberlost  Swamp,  its  gradual  disappear- 
ance under  the  encroachments  of  business,  and  her  re- 
moval to  a  new  field  even  richer  in  natural  beauties.  She 
says:  "In  the  beginning  of  the  end  a  great  swamp  region 
lay  in  northeastern  Indiana.  Its  head  was  in  what  is  now 
Noble  and  DeKalb  counties;  its  body  in  Allen  and  Wells, 
and  its  feet  in  southern  Adams  and  northern  Jay.  The 
Limberlost  lies  at  the  foot  and  was,  when  I  settled  near  it, 
exactly  as  described  in  my  books.  The  process  of  dismant- 
ling it  was  told  in  'Freckles'  to  start  with,  carried  on  in 


STORY  OF  HER  LIFE  AND  WORK         47 

'A  Girl  of  the  Limberlost,'  and  finished  in  'Moths  of  the 
Limberlost.'  Now  it  has  so  completely  fallen  prey  to 
commercialism  through  the  devastation  of  lumbermen, 
oilmen,  and  farmers,  that  I  have  been  forced  to  move  my 
working  territory  and  build  a  new  cabin  about  seventy 
miles  north,  at  the  head  of  the  swamp  in  Noble  county, 
where  there  are  many  lakes,  miles  of  unbroken  marsh,  and 
a  far  greater  wealth  of  plant  and  animal  life  than  existed 
during  my  time  in  the  southern  part.  At  the  north  end 
every  bird  that  frequents  the  Central  States  is  to  be  found. 
Here  grow  in  profusion  many  orchids,  fringed  gentians, 
cardinal  flowers,  turtle  heads,  starry  campions,  purple 
gerardias,  and  grass  of  Parnassus.  In  one  season  I  have 
located  here  almost  every  flower  named  in  the  botanies  as 
native  to  these  regions  and  several  that  I  can  find  in  no 
book  in  my  library. 

"  But  this  change  of  territory  involves  the  purchase  of 
fifteen  acres  of  forest  and  orchard  land,  on  a  lake  shore  in 
marsh  country.  It  means  the  building  of  a  permanent, 
all-year-round  home,  which  will  provide  the  comforts  of 
life  for  my  family  and  furnish  a  workshop  consisting  of  a 
library,  a  photographic  darkroom  and  negative  closet,  and 
a  printing  room  for  me.  I  could  live  in  such  a  home  as  I 
could  provide  on  the  income  from  my  nature  work  alone; 
but  when  my  working  grounds  were  cleared,  drained  and 
ploughed  up,  literally  wiped  from  the  face  of  the  earth,  I 
never  could  have  moved  to  new  country  had  it  not  been  for 
the  earnings  of  the  novels,  which  I  now  spend,  and  always 
have  spent,  in  great  part  upon  my  nature  work.  Based  on 
this  plan  of  work  and  life  I  have  written  ten  books,  and 


48  GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

'please  God  I  live  so  long,'  I  shall  write  ten  more.  Possibly 
every  one  of  them  will  be  located  in  northern  Indiana. 
Each  one  will  be  filled  with  all  the  field  and  woods  legiti- 
mately falling  to  its  location  and  peopled  with  the  best  men 
and  women  I  have  known." 


THE  RAT-CATCHERS  OF  THE  WABASH 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  RAT-CATCHERS  OF  THE  WABASH 

HEY,  you  swate-scented  little  heart-warmer!" 
cried  Jimmy  Malone,  as  he  lifted  his  tenth  trap, 
weighted  with  a  struggling  muskrat,  from  the 
Wabash.  "Varmint  you  may  be  to  all  the  rist  of  creation, 
but  you  mane  a  night  at  Casey's  to  me/* 

Jimmy  whistled  softly  while  he  reset  the  trap.  For  the 
moment  he  forgot  that  he  was  five  miles  from  home,  that 
it  was  a  mile  farther  to  the  end  of  his  line  at  the  lower  curve 
of  Horseshoe  Bend,  that  his  feet  and  fingers  were  almost 
freezing,  and  that  every  rat  of  the  ten  now  in  the  bag  on  his 
back  made  him  thirstier.  He  shivered  as  the  cold  wind 
sweeping  the  curves  of  the  river  struck  him;  but  when  an 
unusually  heavy  gust  dropped  the  ice  and  snow  from  a 
branch  on  the  back  of  his  head,  he  laughed,  as  he  ducked 
and  cried: 

"Kape  your  snowballing  till  the  Fourth  of  July,  will 
you!" 

"  Chick-a-dee-dee-dee ! "  remarked  a  tiny  gray  bird  on 
the  tree  above  him.  Jimmy  glanced  up.  "Chickie, 
Chickie,  Chickie,"  he  said.  "I  can't  till  by  your  dress 
whether  you  are  a  hin  or  a  rooster.  But  I  can  till  by  your 

Si 


52         AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

employmint  that  you  are  working  for  grub.  Have  to 
hustle  lively  for  every  worm  you  find,  don't  you,  Chickie? 
Now  me,  I'm  hustlin'  lively  for  a  drink,  and  I  be  domn  if  it 
seems  nicessary  with  a  whole  river  of  drinkin'  stuff  flowin* 
right  under  me  feet.  But  the  old  Wabash  ain't  runnin* 
'wine  and  milk  and  honey,'  not  by  the  jug-full.  It  seems 
to  be  compounded  of  aquil  parts  of  mud,  crude  ile,  and 
rain  water.  If  'twas  only  runnin'  Melwood,  be  gorry, 
Chickie,  you'd  see  a  mermaid  named  Jimmy  Malone  sittin' 
on  the  Kingfisher  Stump,  combin'  its  auburn  hair  with  a 
breeze,  and  scoopin'  whiskey  down  its  gullet  with  its  tail 
fin.  No,  hold  on,  Chickie,  you  wouldn't  either.  I'm  too 
flat-chisted  for  a  mermaid,  and  I'd  have  no  time  to  lave  off 
gurglin'  for  the  hair-combin'  act,  which,  Chickie,  to  me 
notion  is  as  issential  to  a  mermaid  as  the  curves.  I'd  be  a 
sucker,  the  biggest  sucker  in  the  Gar-hole,  Chickie  bird. 
I'd  be  an  all-day  sucker,  be  gobs;  yis,  and  an  all-night 
sucker,  too.  Come  to  think  of  it,  Chickie,  be  domn  if  I'd 
be  a  sucker  at  all.  Look  at  the  mouths  of  thim !  Puckered 
up  with  a  drawstring!  Chickie,  think  of  Jimmy  Malone 
lyin*  at  the  bottom  of  a  river  fiowin'  with  Melwood,  and  a 
puckerin'-string  mouth!  Wouldn't  that  break  the  heart 
of  you?  I  know  what  I'd  be.  I'd  be  the  Black  Bass  of 
Horseshoe  Bend,  Chickie,  and  I'd  locate  below  the  shoals 
headin'  up  stream,  and  I'd  hold  me  mouth  wide  open  till  I 
paralyzed  me  jaws  so  I  couldn't  shut  thim.  I'd  let  the 
pure  stuff  wash  over  me  gills  constant,  world  without  end. 
Good-bye,  Chickie.  Hope  you  got  your  grub,  and  pretty 
soon  I'll  have  enough  to  drink  to  make  me  feel  like  I  was 
the  Bass  for  one  night,  anyway." 


THE  RAT-CATCHERS  OF  THE  WABASH    53 

Jimmy  burned  to  his  next  trap,  which  was  empty,  but 
the  one  after  that  contained  a  rat,  and  there  were  foot- 
prints in  the  snow. 

"That's  where  the  porrage-heart  of  the  Scotchman 
comes  in,"  said  Jimmy,  as  he  held  up  the  rat  by  one  foot, 
and  gave  it  a  sharp  rap  over  the  head  with  the  trap  to 
make  sure  it  was  dead.  "Dannie  could  no  more  hear  a  rat 
fast  in  one  of  me  traps  and  not  come  over  and  put  it  out  of 
its  misery,  than  he  could  dance  a  hornpipe.  And  him  only 
sicond  hand  from  hornpipe  land,  too!  But  his  feet's  like 
lead.  Poor  Dannie!  He  gets  about  half  the  rats  I  do. 
He  niver  did  have  luck.'* 

Jimmy's  gay  face  clouded  for  an  instant.  The  twinkle 
faded  from  his  eyes,  and  a  look  of  unrest  swept  into  them. 
He  muttered  something,  and  catching  up  his  bag,  shoved 
in  the  rat.  As  he  reset  the  trap,  a  big  crow  dropped  from 
branch  to  branch  on  a  sycamore  above  him.  His  back 
scarcely  was  turned  before  it  alighted  on  the  ice,  and  rav- 
enously picked  at  three  drops  of  blood  purpling  there. 

Down  the  ice-sheeted  river  led  Dannie's  trail,  showing 
plainly  across  the  snow  banket.  The  wind  raved  through 
the  trees,  and  around  the  curves  of  the  river.  The  dark 
earth  of  the  banks  peeping  from  under  overhanging  ice  and 
snow,  appeared  like  the  entrance  to  deep  mysterious  caves. 
Jimmy's  superstitious  soul  readily  peopled  them  with  gob- 
lins and  devils.  He  shuddered;  then  began  to  talk  aloud' 
to  cheer  himself:  "Elivin  muskrat  skins,  times  fifteen  cints 
apiece,  one  dollar  sixty-five.  That  will  buy  more  than 
I  can  hold.  Hagginy!  Won't  I  be  takin'  one  long  fine 
gurgle  of  the  pure  stuff!  And  there's  the  boys!  I  might 


54 

do  the  grand  for  once.  One  on  me  for  the  house !  I  might 
pay  something  on  my  back  score;  but  first  I'll  drink  till  1 
swell  like  a  poisoned  pup.  And  I  ought  to  get  Mary  that 
milk  pail  she's  been  kickin'  for  this  last  month.  Women 
and  cows  are  always  kickin'!  If  the  blarsted  cow  hadn't 
kicked  a  hole  in  the  pail,  there'd  be  no  need  of  Mary  kick- 
ing for  a  new  one.  But  dough  is  dubious  soldering. 
Mary  says  it's  bad  enough  on  the  dish  pan,  but  it  positively 
ain't  hilthy  about  the  milk  pail,  and  she  is  right.  We 
ought  to  have  a  new  pail.  I  guess  I'll  get  it  first,  and  fill 
up  on  what's  left.  One  for  a  quarter  will  do.  I've  several 
traps  yet,  I  may  get  a  few  more  rats." 

The  virtuous  resolve  to  buy  a  milk  pail  before  he 
quenched  the  thirst  which  burned  him,  so  elated  Jimmy 
with  good  opinion  of  himself  that  he  began  whistling  gayly 
as  he  strode  toward  his  next  trap.  By  that  token,  Dannie 
Macnoun,  resetting  an  empty  trap  a  quarter  of  a  mile  be- 
low, knew  that  Jimmy  was  coming,  and  that  as  usual  luck 
was  with  him.  Catching  his  blood  and  water  dripping 
bag,  Dannie  dodged  a  rotten  branch  that  came  crashing 
down  under  the  weight  of  its  icy  load.  He  stepped  to  the 
river,  pulling  on  his  patched  wool-lined  mittens  as  he 
waited  for  Jimmy. 

"How  many,  Dannie?"  called  Jimmy  from  afar. 

"Seven,"  answered  Dannie.     "What  for  ye?" 

"Elivin,"  replied  Jimmy,  with  a  bit  of  unconscious 
swagger.  "I  am  havin'  poor  luck  to-day." 

"How  mony  wad  satisfy  ye?"  asked  Dannie  sarcasti- 
cally. 

"Ain't  got  time  to  figure  that,"  answered  Jimmy,  work- 


THE  RAT-CATCHERS  OF  THE  WABASH    55 

ing  in  a  double  shuffle  as  he  walked.  "Thrash  around  a 
little,  Dannie.  It  will  warm  you  up." 

"I  am  no  cauld,"  answered  Dannie. 

"No  cauld!"  imitated  Jimmy.  "No  cauld!  Come  to 
observe  you  closer,  I  do  detect  symptoms  of  sunstroke  in 
the  ridness  of  your  face,  and  the  whiteness  about  your 
mouth;  but  the  frost  on  your  neck  scarf,  and  the  icicles 
fistooned  around  the  tail  of  your  coat,  tell  a  different 
story." 

"Dannie,  you  remind  me  of  the  baptizin'  of  Pete  Cox 
last  winter.  Pete's  nothin'  but  skin  and  bone,  and  he  niver 
had  a  square  meal  in  his  life  to  warm  him.  It  took  pushin* 
and  pullin'  to  get  him  in  the  water,  and  a  scum  froze  over 
while  he  was  under.  Pete  came  up  shakin'  like  the  feeder 
on  a  thrashin'  machine,  and  whin  he  could  spake  at  all, 
'Bless  Jasus,'  says  he,  'I'm  jist  as  wa-wa-warm  as  I  wa-wa- 
want  to  be.'  So  are  you,  Dannie,  but  there's  a  difference 
in  how  warm  folks  want  to  be.  For  meself,  now,  I  could 
aisily  bear  a  little  more  hate." 

"  It's  honest,  I'm  no  cauld,"  insisted  Dannie.  He  might 
have  added  that  if  Jimmy  would  not  fill  his  system  with 
Casey's  poisons,  that  degree  of  cold  would  not  chill  and 
pinch  him  either;  being  Danme,  he  neither  thought  nor 
said  it. 

"Why,  I'm  frozen  to  me  sowl!"  cried  Jimmy,  as  he 
changed  the  rat  bag  to  his  other  hand,  to  beat  the  empty 
one  against  his  leg.  "Say,  Dannie,  where  do  you  think 
the  Kingfisher  is  wintering?" 

"And  the  Black  Bass,"  answered  Dannie.  "Where  do 
ye  suppose  the  Black  Bass  is  noo?" 


56         AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

"Strange  you  should  mint  ion  the  Black  Bass,"  said 
Jimmy.  "I  was  just  havin*  a  little  talk  about  him  with  a 
frind  of  mine  named  Chickie-dom,  no,  Chickie-dee,  who 
works  a  grub  stake  back  there.  The  Bass  might  be  lyin* 
in  the  river  bed  right  under  our  feet.  Don't  you  remimber 
the  time  whin  I  put  on  three  big  cut-worms,  and  skittered 
thim  beyond  the  log  that  lays  across  here,  and  he  lept 
from  the  water  till  we  both  saw  him  the  best  we  ever  did, 
and  nothin'  but  my  rotten  old  line  ever  saved  him?  Or 
he  might  be  where  it  slumps  off  below  the  Kingfisher 
stump.  But  I  know  where  he  is  all  right.  He's  down  in 
the  Gar-hole,  and  he'll  come  back  here  spawning  time,  and 
chase  minnows  when  the  Kingfisher  comes  home.  But 
Dannie,  where  the  nation  do  you  suppose  the  Kingfisher 
is?" 

"No  so  far  away  as  ye  might  think,"  replied  Dannie. 
"Doc  Hues  told  me  that  coming  on  the  train  frae  Indian- 
apolis on  the  fifteenth  of  December,  he  saw  one  fly  across 
a  little  pond  juist  below  Winchester.  I  believe  they  go 
south  slowly,  as  the  cold  drives  them,  and  stop  near  as  they 
can  find  guid  fishing.  Dinna  that  stump  look  lonely 
wi'out  him  ? " 

"And  sound  lonely  without  the  Bass  slashing  around! 
I  am  going  to  have  that  Bass  this  summer  if  I  don't  do  a 
thing  but  fish ! "  vowed  Jimmy. 

"I'll  surely  have  a  try  at  him,"  answered  Dannie,  his 
gray  eyes  twinkling.  "We've  caught  most  everything 
else  in  the  Wabash,  and  our  reputation  fra  taking  guid  fish 
is  ahead  of  any  one  on  the  river,  except  the  Kingfisher. 
Why  the  diel  dinna  one  of  us  haul  out  that  Bass?" 


THE  RAT-CATCHERS  OF  THE  WABASH    57 

"Ain't  I  just  told  you  that  I  am  going  to  hook  him  this 
summer?"  shivered  Jimmy. 

"Dinna  ye  hear  me  mention  that  I  intended  to  take  a 
try  at  him  mysel'?"  questioned  Dannie.  "Have  ye  for- 
gotten that  I  know  how  to  fish?" 

"'Nough  breeze  to-day  without  starting  a  Highlander," 
interposed  Jimmy  hastily.  "I  believe  I  hear  a  rat  in  my 
next  trap.  That  will  make  me  twilve,  and  it's  good  and 
glad  of  it  I  am,  for  I've  to  walk  to  town  when  my  line  is 
reset.  There's  something  Mary  wants." 

"If  Mary  wants  ye  to  go  to  town,  why  dinna  ye  leave 
me  to  finish  your  traps,  and  start  now?"  asked  Dannie. 
"It's  getting  dark,  and  if  ye  are  so  late  ye  canna 
see  the  drifts,  ye  never  can  cut  across  the  fields;  fra 
the  snow  is  piled  waist  high,  and  it's  a  mile  farther  by 
the  road." 

"I  got  to  skin  my  rats  first,  or  I'll  be  havin'  to  ask  credit 
again,"  replied  Jimmy. 

"That's  easy,"  answered  Dannie.  "Turn  your  rats 
over  to  me  richt  noo.  I'll  give  ye  market  price  fra  them  in 
cash." 

"  But  the  skinnin'  of  them,"  objected  Jimmy  for  decency 
sake,  although  his  eyes  were  beginning  to  shine  and  his 
fingers  to  tremble. 

"Never  ye  mind  about  that,"  retorted  Dannie.  "I 
like  to  take  my  time  to  it,  and  fix  them  up  nice.  Elivin, 
did  ye  say?" 

"Elivin,"  answered  Jimmy,  breaking  into  a  jig,  sup- 
posedly to  keep  his  feet  warm,  in  reality  because  he  could 
not  stand  quietly  while  Dannie  pulled  off  his  mittens, 


58         AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

strapped  his  wallet,  and  carefully  counted  out  the  money. 
"Is  that  all  ye  need?"  he  asked. 

For  an  instant  Jimmy  hesitated.  Missing  a  chance  to 
get  even  a  few  cents  more  meant  a  little  shorter  time  at 
Casey's.  "That's  enough,  I  think,"  he  said.  "I  wish  I'd 
stayed  out  of  matrimony,  and  then  maybe  I  could  iver 
have  a  cint  of  me  own.  You  ought  to  be  glad  you  haven't 
a  woman  to  consume  ivry  penny  you  earn  before  it 
reaches  your  pockets,  Dannie  Micnoun." 

"I  hae  never  seen  Mary  consume  much  but  calico  arad 
food,"  Dannie  said  dryly. 

"Oh,  it  ain't  so  much  what  a  woman  really  spindft," 
said  Jimmy,  peevishly,  as  he  shoved  the  money  into  his 
pocket,  and  pulled  on  his  mittens.  "It's  what  you  know 
she  would  spind  if  she  had  the  chance." 

"I  dinna  think  ye'll  break  up  on  that,"  laughed  Dannie. 

And  that  was  what  Jimmy  wanted.  So  long  as  he 
could  set  Dannie  laughing,  he  could  mould  him. 

"No,  but  I'll  break  down,"  lamented  Jimmy  in  sore 
self-pity,  as  he  remembered  the  quarter  reserved  for  the 
purchase  of  the  milk  pail. 

"Ye  go  on,  and  hurry,"  urged  Dannie.  "If  ye  dinna 
start  home  by  seven,  I'll  be  combing  the  drifts  fra  ye  be- 
fore morning." 

"Anything  I  can  do  for  you?"  asked  Jimmy,  tightening 
his  old  red  scarf. 

"Yes,"  answered  Dannie.  "Do  your  errand  and  start 
straight  home,  your  teeth  are  chattering  noo.  A  little 
more  exposure,  and  the  rheumatism  will  be  grinding  ye 
again.  Ye  will  hurry,  Jimmy?" 


THE  RAT-CATCHERS  OF  THE  WABASH    59 

*  Sure!"  cried  Jimmy,  ducking  under  a  snow  slide,  and 
breaking  into  a  whistle  as  he  turned  toward  the  road. 

Dannie's  gaze  followed  Jimmy's  retreating  figure  until 
he  climbed  the  bank,  and  was  lost  in  the  woods,  while  the 
light  in  his  eyes  was  the  light  of  love.  He  glanced  at  the 
sky,  arid  hurried  down  the  river.  First  across  to  Jimmy's 
side  to  gather  his  rats  and  reset  his  traps,  then  to  his  own. 
But  luck  seemed  to  have  turned,  for  the  remainder  of 
Dannie's  were  full,  and  all  of  Jimmy's  were  empty.  But  as 
he  was  gone,  it  was  not  necessary  for  Dannie  to  slip  across 
and  fill  them,  as  was  his  custom  when  they  worked  to- 
gether. He  would  divide  the  rats  at  skinning  time,  so  that 
Jimmy  would  have  just  twice  as  many  as  he,  because 
Jimmy  had  a  wife  to  support. 

The  last  trap  of  the  line  lay  a  little  below  the  curve  of 
Horseshoe  Bend;  there  Dannie  twisted  the  tops  of  the  bags 
together,  climbed  the  bank,  and  started  across  Rainbow 
Bottom.  He  settled  his  load  to  his  shoulders,  and  glanced 
ahead  to  choose  the  shortest  route.  He  stopped  suddenly 
with  a  quick  intake  of  breath. 

"God!"  he  cried  reverently.  "Hoo  beautifu*  are  Thy 
works." 

The  ice-covered  Wabash  circled  Rainbow  Bottom  like  a 
broad  white  frame;  inside  it  was  a  perfect  picture  wrought 
in  crystal  white  and  snow  shadows.  The  blanket  on  the 
earth  lay  smoothly  in  even  places,  rose  with  knolls,  fell 
witL  valleys,  curved  over  prostrate  logs,  heaped  in  mounds 
where  bushes  grew  thickly,  and  piled  high  in  drifts  where 
tba  wind  blew  free. 

In  the  shelter  of  the  bottom  the  wind  had  not  stripped 


60    AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

the  trees  of  their  loads  as  it  had  those  along  the  river.  The 
willows,  maples,  and  soft  woods  bent  almost  to  earth  with 
their  shining  burden;  but  the  stout,  stiffly  upstanding  trees, 
the  oaks,  elms,  and  cottonwoods  defied  the  elements  to 
bow  their  proud  heads;  while  the  three  mighty  trunks  of 
the  great  sycamore  in  the  middle  appeared  white  as  the 
snow,  and  dwarfed  its  companions  as  it  never  had  in 
summer;  its  wide-spreading  branches  were  sharply  cut 
against  the  blue  background,  and  they  tossed  their  frosted 
balls  in  the  face  of  Heaven.  The  giant  of  Rainbow  Bottom 
tnight  be  broken,  but  it  never  would  bend.  Every  clamber- 
ing vine,  every  weed  and  dried  leaf  wore  a  coat  of  lace- 
webbed  frostwork.  The  wind  swept  a  mist  of  tiny 
crystals  through  the  air,  while  from  the  shelter  of  the  deep 
woods  across  the  river  a  Cardinal  whistled  gayly. 

The  bird  of  Good  Cheer,  whistling  no  doubt  on  an 
empty  crop,  made  Dannie  think  of  Jimmy,  and  his  unfail- 
ing fountain  of  mirth.  Dear  Jimmy!  Would  he  ever  take 
life  seriously?  How  good  he  was  to  tramp  to  town  and 
back  after  five  miles  on  the  ke.  He  thought  of  Mary  with 
almost  a  touch  of  impatience.  What  did  the  woman  want 
that  was  so  necessary  as  to  send  a  man  to  town  after  a  day 
on  the  ice?  Jimmy  would  be  dog  tired  when  he  came 
home.  Dannie  decided  to  hurry,  and  do  the  feeding  and 
carry  in  the  wood  before  he  began  to  skin  the  rats. 

He  found  walking  uncertain.  He  plunged  into  unsus- 
pected hollows,  and  waded  drifts,  so  that  he  was  par  ting 
when  he  reached  the  lane.  From  there  he  caught  the  gray 
curl  of  smoke  against  the  sky  from  one  of  two  log  cabins 
side  by  side  at  the  top  of  the  wnbankment,  and  he  almost 


THE  RAT-CATCHERS  OF  THE  WABASH    61 

ran  toward  them.  Mary  might  think  they  were  late  at 
the  traps,  and  be  out  doing  the  feeding,  which  would  be 
cold  for  a  woman. 

On  reaching  his  own  door,  he  dropped  the  rat  bags  in- 
side; then  hurried  to  the  yard  of  the  other  cabin.  He 
gathered  a  big  load  of  wood  in  his  arms,  and  stamping  the 
snow  from  his  feet,  called  "Open!"  at  the  door.  Dannie 
stepped  inside  and  filled  the  empty  box.  With  smiling 
eyes  he  turned  to  Maiy,  as  he  brushed  the  snow  and  moss 
from  his  sleeves. 

"Nothing  but  luck  to-day,"  he  said.  "Jimmy  took 
eleven  fine  skins  frae  his  traps  before  he  started  to  town; 
I  got  five  more  that  are  his,  and  I  hae  eight  o'  my  own." 

Mary  seemed  such  a  dream  to  Dannie,  standing  there 
all  pink,  warm  and  tidy  in  her  fresh  blue  dress,  that  he 
blinked  and  smiled,  half  bewildered. 

"What  did  Jimmy  go  to  town  for?"  she  asked. 

"Whatever  it  was  ye  wanted,"  answered  Dannie. 

"What  was  it  I  wanted?"  persisted  Mary. 

"He  dinna  tell  me,"  replied  Dannie,  the  smile  wavering 

"Me,  either,"  said  Mary.  She  stooped  and  picked  uf 
her  sewing. 

Dannie  went  out,  gently  closing  the  door.  He  stood  foi 
a  second  on  the  step,  forcing  himself  to  take  an  inventor^ 
of  the  work.  There  were  the  chickens  to  feed,  and  the 
cows  to  milk,  feed,  and  water.  Both  the  teams  must  be  fed 
and  bedded,  a  fire  in  his  own  house  made,  and  two  dozen 
rats  skinned,  and  the  skins  put  to  stretch  and  cure.  And  at 
the  end  of  it  all,  instead  of  a  bed  and  rest,  there  was  every 
probability  that  DP  must  drive  to  town  after  Jimmy;  for 


62         AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

Jimmy  could  become  helpless  enough  to  freeze  in  a  drift  on 
a  dollar  sixty-five. 

"Oh,  Jimmy,  Jimmy!'*  muttered  Dannie.  "I  wish  ye 
wadna."  He  was  not  thinking  of  himself  so  much  as  of  the 
eyes  of  the  woman  inside. 

So  DaJinie  did  all  the  work,  and  cooked  his  supper,  be- 
cause he  never  ate  in  Jimmy's  cabin  when  Jimmy  was  not 
there.  Then  he  skinned  rats,  and  watched  the  clock,  be- 
cause if  Jimmy  did  not  come  by  eleven,  it  meant  he  must 
drive  to  town  and  bring  him  home.  No  wonder  Jimmy 
chilled  at  the  trapping  when  he  kept  his  blood  on  fire  with 
whiskey.  At  half-past  ten,  Dannie,  with  scarcely  half  the 
rats  finished,  went  into  the  storm  and  hitched  to  the  single 
buggy.  Then  he  tapped  at  Mary  Malone's  door,  quite 
softly,  so  that  he  would  not  disturb  her  if  she  had  gone  to 
bed.  She  was  not  sleeping,  however,  and  the  loneliness  of 
her  slight  figure,  as  she  stood  with  the  lighted  room  behind 
her,  appealed  to  Dannie  forcibly,  so  that  his  voice  trembled 
with  pity  as  he  said: 

"Mary,  I've  run  out  o'  my  curing  compound  juist  in  the 
midst  of  skinning  the  finest  bunch  o'  rats  we've  taken  frate 
the  traps  this  winter.  I  am  going  to  drive  to  town  fra 
some  more  before  the  stores  close,  and  we  will  be  back  in 
less  than  an  hour.  I  thought  I'd  tell  ye,  so  if  ye  wanted 
me  ye  wad  know  why  I  dinna  answer.  Ye  winna  be 
afraid,  will  ye?" 

"No,"  replied  Mary,  "I  won't  be  afraid." 

"  Bolt  the  doors,  and  pile  on  plenty  of  wood  to  keep  ye 
warm,"  said  Dannie  as  he  turned  away. 

For  a  minute  Mary  gazed  into  the  storm.    Then  a  gu*t 


THE  RAT-CATCHERS  OF  THE  WABASH    63 

of  wind  nearly  swept  her  from  her  feet,  so  she  pushed  the 
door  shut,  and  slid  the  heavy  bolt  into  place.  For  a  little 
while  she  leaned  and  listened  to  the  storm  outside.  She 
was  a  clean,  neat,  beautiful  Irish  woman.  Her  eyes  were 
wide  and  blue,  her  cheeks  pink,  and  her  hair  black  and 
softly  curling  around  her  face  and  neck.  The  room  in 
which  she  stood  was  neat  as  its  keeper.  The  walls  were 
whitewashed,  and  covered  with  prints,  pictures,  and  some 
small  tanned  skins.  Dried  grasses  and  flowers  filled  the 
vases  on  the  mantel.  The  floor  was  covered  with  a 
striped  rag  carpet,  and  in  the  big  open  fireplace  a  wood 
fire  roared.  In  an  opposite  corner  stood  a  modern  cook- 
ing stove,  the  pipe  passing  through  a  hole  in  the  wall,  and 
a  door  led  into  a  sleeping  room  adjoining. 

As  her  eyes  swept  the  room  they  rested  finally  on  a 
framed  lithograph  of  the  Virgin,  with  the  Infant  in  her 
arms.  Slowly  Mary  advanced,  gazing  on  the  serene 
pictured  face  of  the  mother  clasping  her  child.  Before  it 
she  stood  staring.  Suddenly  her  breast  began  to  heave, 
while  the  big  tears  brimmed  from  her  eyes  and  slid  down 
her  cheeks. 

"Since  you  look  so  wise,  why  don't  you  tell  me  why?" 
she  demanded.  "Oh,  if  you  have  any  mercy,  tell  me 
why!" 

Then  before  the  steady  look  in  the  calm  eyes,  she  hastily 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  slipping  to  the  floor,  she 
laid  her  head  on  a  chair,  sobbing  aloud. 


RUBEN  O'KHAYAM  AND  THE  MltJL  PAIL 


J 


CHAPTER  II 
RUBEN  O'KHAYAM  ANB  THE  MILK  PAIL 

IMMY  MALONE,  carrying  a  shining  tin  milk  pail, 
stepped  into  Casey's  saloon. 

"E'  much  as  wine  has  played  the  Infidel, 
And  robbed  me  of  my  robe  of  Honor — well, 
I  wonder  what  the  Vinters  buy 
One-half  so  "precious  as  the  stuff  they  sell." 


Jimmy  stared  at  the  back  of  a  man  leaning  against  the 
bar,  gazing  lovingly  at  a  glass  of  red  wine,  while  he  recited 
in  mellow,  swinging  tones.  Gripping  the  milk  pail,  Jimmy 
advanced  a  step.  The  man  stuck  a  thumb  in  the  belt  of 
his  Norfolk  jacket,  and  the  verses  flowed  on: 

"The  grape  that  can  with  logic  absolute 
The  two  and  seventy  jarring  sects  confute: 
The  sovereign  Alchemist  that  in  a  trice 
Life's  leaden  metal  into  Gold  transmute." 

Jimmy's  mouth  fell  open;  hejslowly  nodded  indorsement 
of  the  sentiment.  The  man  lifted  his  glass: 

"Ah,  make  the  most  of  what  we  yet  may  spend, 
Before  we  too  into  the  Dust  descend; 
Yesterday  this  Day's  Madness  did  prepare; 
To-morrow's  Silence,  Triumph,  or  Despair: 
Drink!  for  you  know  not  whence  you  came  nor  why: 
Drink!  for  you  know  not  why  you  go  nor  where." 
67 


68         AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

Jimmy  set  the  milk  pail  on  the  bar  and  faced  the  man: 
"Tore  God,  that's  the  only  sinsible  word  I  ever  heard  on 
my  side  of  the  quistion  in  all  me  life.  And  to  think  that  k 
should  come  from  the  mouth  of  a  man  wearing  such  a  Go- 
to-Hellcoat!" 

Jimmy  shoved  the  milk  pail  in  front  of  the  stranger. 
"In  the  name  of  humanity,  impty  yourself  of  that/'  he 
said.  "Fill  me  pail  with  the  stuff  so  I  can  take  it  home 
to  Mary.  She's  always  got  the  best  of  the  argumint, 
but  I'm  thinkin*  that  would  cork  her.  You  won't?" 
questioned  Jimmy  resentfully.  "Kape  it  to  yoursilf, 
thin,  like  you  did  your  wine.*'  He  pushed  the  bucket 
toward  the  barkeeper,  and  emptied  his  pocket  on  the 
bar.  "There,  Casey,  you  be  the  Sovereign  Alchemist, 
and  transmute  that  metal  into  Melwood  pretty  quicl^, 
for  I've  not  wet  me  whistle  in  three  days,  and  the 
belly  of  me  is  filled  with  burnin*  autumn  leaves.  Gimme 
a  loving  cup,  and  come  on  boys,  this  is  on  me  while  it 
lasts." 

The  barkeeper  swept  the  coin  into  the  till,  picked  up  the 
bucket,  and  started  back  toward  a  beer  keg. 

"Oh  no  you  don't!"  cried  Jimmy.  "Come  back 
here  and  count  that  'leaden  metal,'  and  then  be  trans- 
mutin'  it  into  whiskey  straight,  the  purest  gold  you 
got.  You  don't  drown  out  a  three-days'  thirst  with 
beer.  You  ought  to  give  me  'most  two  quarts  for 
that." 

The  barkeeper  was  wise.  He  knew  that  what  Jimmy 
started  would  go  on  with  men  who  could  pay,  so  he  filled 
the  order  generously. 


RUBEN  AND  THE  MILK  PAIL  69 

Jimmy  picked  up  the  pail.  He  dipped  a  small  glass  in 
the  liquor,  and  held  near  an  ounce  aloft. 

•''I  wonder  what  the  Vinters  buy 
One-half  so  precious  as  the  stuff  they  sell?" 

he  quoted.  '"'Down  goes!"  and  he  emptied  the  glass  at  a 
draught.  Then  he  walked  to  the  group  at  the  stove,  and 
began  dipping  a  drink  for  each. 

When  Jimmy  came  to  a  gray-haired  man,  with  a  high 
forehead  and  an  intellectual  face,  he  whispered : 

"Take  your  full  time,  Cap.  Who's  the  rhymin*  in- 
kybator?" 

"Thread  man,  Boston,"  mouthed  the  Captain,  as  he 
reached  for  the  glass  with  trembling  fingers.  Jimmy  held 
on.  "Do  you  know  that  stuff  he's  giving  off?"  The 
Captain  nodded,  and  arose.  He  always  declared  he  could 
feel  it  farther  if  he  drank  standing. 

"What's  his  name?"  whispered  Jimmy,  releasing  the 
glass. 

"Rubaiyat,  Omar  Khayyam,"  panted  the  Captain,  and 
was  lost.  Jimmy  finished  the  round  of  his  friends;  then 
approached  the  bar. 

His  voice  was  softening.  "Mister  Ruben  O'Khayam," 
he  said,  "it's  me  private  opinion  that  ye  nade  lace- 
trimmed  pantalettes  and  a  sash  to  complate  your  costume, 
but  barrin'  clothes,  I'm  entangled  in  the  thrid  of  your 
discourse.  Bern'  a  Boston  man  meself,  it  appeals  to  me, 
that  I  detict  the  refinemint  of  the  East  in  yer  voice.  Now 
these,  me  frinds,  that  I've  just  been  tratin',  are  men  of 
these  parts;  but  we  of  the  middle  East  don't  set  up  to 


TO    AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

equal  the  culture  of  the  extreme  East.  So,  Mr.  O'Kha- 
yam,  solely  for  the  benefit  you  might  be  to  us,  I'm  askin.' 
you  to  join  me  and  me  frinds  in  the  momenchous  initiation 
of  me  new  milk  pail." 

Jimmy  lifted  a  brimming  glass,  and  offered  it  to  the 
Thread  Man.  "Do  you  transmute?"  he  asked.  Now  ii 
the  Boston  man  had  looked  Jimmy  in  the  eye,  and  said  "1 
<lo,"  this  story  would  not  have  been  told.  But  he  did  not. 
He  glanced  at  the  milk  pail,  and  the  glass,  which  had 
passed  through  the  hands  of  a  dozen  men  in  a  little  country 
saloon  in  the  wilds  of  Indiana,  and  said :  "  I  do  not  care  to 
partake  of  further  refreshment;  if  I  can  be  of  intellectual 
benefit,  I  might  remain  for  a  time." 

For  an  instant  Jimmy  lifted  the  five  feet  ten  of  his  height 
to  six;  but  in  another  he  shrank  below  normal.  What  ap- 
peared to  the  Thread  Man  to  be  a  humble,  deferential 
seeker  after  wisdom,  led  him  to  one  of  the  chairs  around 
the  big  coal  base  burner.  The  boys  who  knew  Jimmy  were 
watching  the  whites  of  his  eyes,  as  they  drank  the  second 
round.  At  this  stage  Jimmy  was  velvet.  How  long  he  re- 
mained so  depended  on  the  depth  of  Melwood  in  the  milk 
pail  between  his  knees.  He  smiled  winningly  on  the 
Thread  Man. 

"Ye  know,  Mister  O'Khayam,"  he  said,  "at  the 
present  time  you  are  located  in  one  of  the  wooliest  parts 
of  the  wild  East.  I  don't  suppose  anything  woolier  could 
be  found  on  the  plains  of  Nebraska  where  I  am  reliably  in- 
formed they've  stuck  up  a  pole  and  labelled  it  the  cintre  of 
the  United  States.  Being  a  thousand  miles  closer  that 
pole  than  you  are  in  Boston,  naturally  we  come  by  that 


RUBEN  AND  THE  MILK  PAIL  71 

distance  closer  to  the  great  wool  industry.  Most  of  ouc 
wool  here  grows  on  our  tongues,  and  we  shear  it  by  this 
transmutin'  process,  concerning  which  you  have  discoursed 
so  beautiful.  But  barrin'  the  shearin'  of  our  wool,  we  are 
the  mildest,  most  sheepish  fellows  you  could  imagine.  I 
don't  reckon  now  there  is  a  man  among  us  who  could  be  in* 
duced  to  blat  or  to  butt,  under  the  most  tryin*  circum- 
stances. My  Mary's  got  a  little  lamb,  and  all  the  rist  of 
the  boys  are  lambs.  But  all  the  lambs  are  waned,  and 
clusterin'  round  the  milk  pail.  Ain't  that  touchin'? 
Come  on,  now,  Ruben,  ile  up  and  edify  us  some  more!" 

"On  what  point  do  you  seek  enlightenment?"  inquired 
the  Thread  Man. 

Jimmy  stretched  his  long  legs  in  pure  delight  as  he  spat 
against  the  stove. 

"Oh,  you  might  loosen  up  on  the  work  of  a  man,"  he 
suggested.  "These  lambs  of  Casey's  fold  may  larn  things 
from  you  to  help  thim  in  the  striss  of  life.  Now  here's 
Jones,  for  instance,  he's  holdin'  togither  a  gang  of  sixty 
gibbering  Atalyans;  any  wan  of  thim  would  cut  his  throat 
and  skip  in  the  night  for  a  dollar,  but  he  kapes  the  beast  in 
thim  under,  and  they're  gettin'  out  gravel  for  the  bed  of  a 
railway.  Bingham  there  is  oil.  He's  punchin*  the  earth 
full  of  wan  thousand  foot  holes,  and  sendin'  off  two  hun- 
Jred  quarts  of  nitroglycerine  at  the  bottom  of  thim,  and 
pumpin'  the  accumulation  across  continents  to  furnish 
folks  light  and  hate.  York  here  is  runnin'  a  field  railway 
between  Bluffton  and  Celina,  so  that  I  can  get  to  the  river 
and  the  resurvoir  to  fish  without  walkin*.  Haines  is 
bossin'  a  crew  of  forty  Canadians  and  he's  takin*  the  tira- 


72]       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

her  from  the  woods  hereabouts,  and  sending  it  to  be  made 
into  boats  to  carry  stuff  across  sea.  Meself,  and  me  part- 
ner, Dannie  Micnoun,  are  the  lady-likest  lambs  in  the 
bunch.  We  grow  grub  to  feed  folks  in  summer  and  trap 
for  skins  to  cover  'em  in  winter.  Corn  is  our  great  com- 
modity. Plowin'  and  hoein'  it  in  summer,  and  huskin' 
it  in  the  fall  is  sich  lamb-like  work.  But  don't  mintion  it 
in  the  same  brith  with  tendin'  our  four  dozen  fur  traps  on 
a  twenty-below-zero  day.  Freezing  hands  and  fate,  and 
fallin*  into  air  bubbles,  and  building  fires  to  thaw  out  our 
frozen  grub.  Now  here  among  us  poor  little  '  transmutin' ' 
lambs  you  come,  a  raging  lion,  ripresentin'  the  cultour  and 
rayfinement  of  the  far  East.  By  the  pleats  on  your  breast 
you  show  us  the  style.  By  the  thrid  case  in  your  hand  yod 
furnish  us  material  so  that  our  women  can  tuck  their  petti- 
coats so  fancy,  and  by  the  book  in  your  head  you  teach  trs 
your  sooperiority.  By  the  same  token,  I  wish  I  had  that 
book  in  me  head,  for  I  could  just  squelch  Dannie  and 
Mary  with  it  complate.  Say,  Mister  O'Khayam,  next 
time  you  come  this  way  bring  me  a  copy.  I'm  wan  tin'  it 
bad.  I  got  what  you  gave  off  all  secure,  but  I  take  it 
there's  more.  No  man  goin'  at  that  clip  could  shut  off 
with  thim  few  lines.  Do  you  know  the  rist  ? " 

The  Thread  Man  did,  and  although  he  was  very  un- 
comfortable, he  did  not  know  how  to  get  away,  so  he 
recited  it.  The  milk  pail  had  been  drained.  Jimmy  had  al- 
most forgotten  that  it  was  a  milk  pail,  and  seemed  inclined 
to  resent  the  fact  that  it  was  empty.  He  beat  time  on  the 
bottom  of  it,  and  frequently  interrupted  the  Thread  Man 
to  repeat  a  couplet  that  particularly  pleased  him.  By  and 


RUBEN  AND  THE  MILK  PAIL  73 

by  he  arose  and  began  stepping  off  a  slow  dance  to  a  sing- 
song repetition  of  lines  that  sounded  musical  to  him,  all  the 
time  marking  the  measures  vigorously  on  the  pail.  When 
he  tired  of  a  couplet,  he  pounded  the  pail  over  the  bar, 
stove,  or  chairs  in  encore,  until  the  Thread  Man  could 
think  up  another  to  which  he  could  dance. 

"Wine!    Wine!    Wine!     Red  Wine! 
The  Nightingale  cried  to  the  rose," 

chanted  Jimmy,  thumping  the  pail  in  time,  and  stepping: 
off  the  measures  with  feet  that  scarcely  seemed  to  touch 
the  floor.  He  flung  his  hat  to  the  barkeeper,  his  coat  on  a 
chair,  ruffled  his  fingers  through  his  thick  auburn  hair,  and 
holding  the  pail  under  one  arm,  he  paused,  panting  for 
b  reath  and  begging  for  more.  The  Thread  Man  sat  on  the 
edge  of  his  chair,  while  the  eyes  with  which  he  watched 
Jj'.mmy  were  beginning  to  fill  with  interest. 

"Come  fill  the  Cup  and  in  the  fire  of  Spring 
Your  Winter-Garment  of  Repentance  fling. 
The  bird  of  time  has  but  a  little  way  to  flutter 
And  the  bird  is  on  the  wing." 

Smash  came  the  milk  pail  across  the  bar.  "Hooray!" 
shouted  Jimmy.  "  Besht  yet ! "  Bang!  Bang!  He  was 
off".  "Bird  ish  on  the  wing,"  he  chanted,  while  his  feet 
flew.  "Come  fill  the  cup,  and  in  the  firesh  of  spring — 
Firesh  of  Spring,  Bird  ish  on  the  Wing!"  Between  the 
music  of  the  milk  pail,  the  brogue  of  the  panted  verses,  and 
the  grace  of  Jimmy's  flashing  feet,  the  Thread  Man  was 
almost  prostrate.  It  suddenly  came  to  him  that  here 
might  be  a  chance  to  have  a  new  experience. 


74          AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

"More!"  gasped  Jimmy.  "Me  some  more!"  The 
Thread  Man  wiped  his  eyes. 

''Whether  the  cup  with  sweet  or  bitter  run, 

"  The  wine  of  life  keeps  oozing  drop  by  drop, 

The  leaves  of  life  keep  falling  one  by  one." 

\Away  went  Jimmy. 

"Swate  or  bitter  run, 
Laves  of  life  kape  falling  one  by  one." 

Bang!  Bang!  sounded  a  new  improvisation  on  the  badly 
battered  pail,  while  to  a  new  step  Jimmy  danced  back  and 
forth  the  length  of  the  saloon.  At  last  he  paused  to  rest  a 
second.  "One  more!  Just  one  more!"  he  begged. 

"A  Book  of  Verses  underneath  the  Bough, 
A  jug  of  wine,  a  Loaf  of  Bread  and  Thou 
Beside  me  singing  in  the  Wilderness. 
Oh,  wilderness  were  Paradise  enough!" 

Jimmy's  head  drooped  an  instant.  His  feet  slowly 
shuffled  in  improvising  a  new  step,  then  he  moved  away, 
thumping  the  milk  pail  and  chanting: 

"A  couple  offish  poles  underneath  a  tree, 
A  bottle  of  Rye  and  Dannie  beside  me 
A  fishing  in  the  Wabash. 
Were  the  Wabash  Paradise  ?    Hully  Gee .'" 

Tired  out,  he  dropped  across  a  chair  facing  the  back  and 
bided  hi*  arms.     He  regained  breath  to  ask  the  Thread 
Man:  "Did  you  iver  have  a  frind?" 
He  had  reached  the  confidential  stage. 
The  Boston  man  was  struggling  to  regain  his  dignity. 


RUBEN  AND  THE  MILK  PAIL  75 

He  retained  the  impression  that  at  the  wildest  of  the  dance 
he  had  yelled  and  patted  time  for  Jimmy. 

"I  hope  I  have  a  host  of  friends,"  he  said,  settling  his 
pleated  coat. 

"Damn  hosht!"  said  Jimmy.  "Jisht  in  way.  Now  I 
got  one  frind,  hosht  all  by  himself.  Be  here  pretty  soon 
now.  Alwaysh  comesh  nights  like  thish." 

"Comes  here?"  inquired  the  Thread  Man.  "Am  I  to 
meet  another  interesting  character?" 

"Yesh,  comesh  here.  Comesh  after  me.  Comesh  like 
the  clock  sthriking  twelve.  Don't  he,  boys?"  inquired 
Jimmy.  "But  he  ain't  no  interesting  character.  Jisht 
common  man,  Dannie  is.  Honest  man.  Never  told  a  lie 
in  his  life.  Yesh,  he  did,  too.  I  forgot.  He  liesh  for  me. 
Jish  liesh  and  liesh.  Liesh  to  Mary.  Tells  her  any  old 
liesh  to  keep  me  out  of  schrape.  You  ever  have  frind 
hish  up  and  drive  ten  milesh  for  you  night  like  thish,  and 
liesh  to  get  you  out  of  schrape?" 

"I  never  needed  any  one  to  lie  and  get  me  out  of  a 
scrape,"  answered  the  Thread  Man. 

Jimmy  sat  straight  and  solemnly  blinked  his  eyes.  "Gee ! 
You  musht  misshed  mosht  the  fun ! "  he  said.  "Me,  I  ain't 
ever  misshed  any.  Always  in  .schrape.  But  Dannie  getsh 
me  out.  Good  old  Dannie.  Jish  like  dog.  Take  care  me 
all  me  life.  See?  Old  folks  come  on  same  boat.  Women 
get  thick.  Shettle  beside.  Build  cabinsh  together.  Work 
together,  and  domn  if  they  didn't  get  shmall  pox  and  die 
together.  Left  me  and  Dannie.  So  we  work  together  jish 
shame,  and  we  fallsh  in  love  with  the  shame  girl.  Dannie 
too  slow.  I  got  her."  Jimmy  wiped  away  large  tears. 


76         AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

"How  did  you  win  her,  Jimmy?"  asked  a  man  who  re- 
membered a  story. 

"How  the  nation  did  I  get  her?"  Jimmy  scratched  his 
head,  and  appealed  to  the  Thread  Man.  "Dannie  beshf 
man.  Milesh  besht  man!  Never  lie — 'cept  for  me. 
Never  drink — 'cept  for  me.  Alwaysh  save  his  money — • 
'cept  for  me.  Milesh  besht  man!  Isn't  he  besht  man, 
Spooley  ? " 

"Ain't  it  true  that  you  served  Dannie  a  mean  little 
trick?"  asked  the  man  who  remembered. 

Jimmy  was  not  drunk  enough,  while  the  violent  exercise 
of  the  dance  had  partially  sobered  him.  He  glared  at  the 
man:  "Whatsh  you  talkin'  about?"  he  demanded. 

"I'm  just  asking  you,"  said  the  man,  "why,  if  you 
played  straight  with  Dannie  about  the  girl,  you  never 
have  had  the  face  to  go  to  confession  since  you  married 
her." 

"Alwaysh  send  my  wife,"  said  Jimmy  grandly.  "  Domsh 
any  woman  that  can't  confiss  enough  for  two!" 

Then  he  hitched  his  chair  closer  to  the  Thread  Man,  and 
grew  more  confidential:  "Shee  here,"  he  said.  "Firsht  I 
see  your  pleated  coat,  didn't  like.  But  head's  all  right. 
Great  head!  Sthuck  on  frillsh  there!  Want  to  be  let  in 
on  something?  ,Got  enough  city,  clubsh,  an'  all  that? 
'Want  to  taste  real  thing?  Lesh  go  coon  huntin'.  Theysh 
tree  down  Canoper,  jish  short  pleashant  walk,  got  fify 
coons  in  it !  Nobody  knowsh  the  tree  but  me,  shee  ?  Been 
good  to  ush  boys.  Sat  on  same  kind  of  chairs  we  do. 
Educate  ush  up  lot.  Know  mosht  that  poetry  till  I  did 
shee?  'Wonner  wash  vinters  buy,  halfsh  precious  ash 


RUBEN  AND  THE  MILK  PAIL  77 

sthuff  shell,'  shee?  I  got  it!  Let  you  in  on  real  thing. 
Take  grand  big  coon  skinch  back  to  Boston  with  you. 
Ringsh  on  tail.  Make  wife  fine  muff,  or  fur  trimmingsh. 
Good  to  till  boysh  at  club  about,  shee  ? " 

"Are  you  asking  me  to  go  on  a  coon  hunt  with  you?" 
demanded  the  Thread  Man.  "When?  Where?" 

"Corshally  invited,"  answered  Jimmy.  " To-morrow 
night.  Canoper.  Show  you  plashe.  Bill  Duke's  dogs.  My 
gunsh.  Moonsh  shinin'.  Dogs  howlin'.  Shnow  flying! 
Fify  coonsh  rollin'  out  one  hole!  Shoot  all  dead!  Take 
your  pick!  Tan  skin  for  you  myself!  Roaring  big  firesh 
warm  by.  Bag  finesh  sandwiches  ever  tasted.  Milk  pail 
pure  gold  drink.  No  stop,  slop  out  going  over  bridge. 
Take  jug.  Big  jug.  Toss  her  up  an*  let  her  gurgle. 
Dogsh  bark.  Fire  pop.  Guns  bang.  Fify  coons  drop. 
Boysh  all  go.  Want  to  get  more  education.  Takes  cul- 
ture to  get  woolsh  off.  Shay,  will  you  go?" 

"I  wouldn't  miss  it  for  a  thousand  dollars,"  said  the 
Thread  Man.  "  But  what  will  I  say  to  my  house  for  being 
a  day  late?" 

"Shay  gotter  grippe,"  suggested  Jimmy.  "Never  too 
late  to  getter  grippe.  Will  you  all  go,  boysh  ? " 

There  were  not  three  men  m  the  saloon  who  knew  of  a 
tree  that  had  sheltered  a  coon  that  winter,  but  Jimmy  was 
Jimmy,  so  he  could  be  trusted  for  an  expedition  of  that 
sort.  All  of  them  agreed  to  be  at  the  saloon  ready  for  the 
hunt  at  nine  o'clock  the  next  night.  The  Thread  Man  felt 
that  he  was  going  to  see  Life.  He  immediately  invited  the 
boys  to  the  bar  to  drink  to  the  success  of  the  hunt. 

"You  shont  own  coon  yourself,"  offered  the  magnani- 


78         AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

mous  Jimmy.  "You  may  carrysh  my  gunsh,  take  first 
shot.  First  shot  to  Missher  O'Khayam,  boysh,  'member 
that.  Shay,  can  you  hit  anything?  Take  a  try  now." 
Jimmy  shoved  a  big  revolver  into  the  hand  of  the  Thread 
Man.  "Whersh  target!"  he  demanded. 

As  he  turned  from  the  bar,  the  milk  pail  which  he  still 
carried  under  his  arm  caught  on  an  iron  rod.  Jimmy 
gave  it  a  jerk,  and  ripped  the  rim  from  the  bottom. 

"Thish  do,"  he  said.  "Splendid  marksh.  Shinesh 
jish  like  coon's  eyesh  in  torch  light." 

He  carried  the  pail  to  the  back  wall  and  hung  it  over  a 
nail.  The  nail  was  straight,  while  the  pail  was  flaring,  so 
the  pail  fell.  Jimmy  kicked  it  across  the  room,  then 
gathered  it  up,  and  drove  a  dent  in  it  with  his  heel,  tlnat 
would  hold  over  the  nail.  Then  he  went  back  to  the 
Thread  Man.  "Theresh  mark,  Ruben.  Blash  away!"  he 
said. 

The  Boston  man  hesitated.  "Whatsh  the  mattter? 
Cansh  shoot  off  nothing  \  at  your  mouth?"  demanded 
Jimmy.  He  caught  the  re  /olver  and  fired  three  shots  so 
rapidly  that  the  sounds  came  almost  as  one.  Two  bullets 
pierced  the  bottom  of  the  pail,  the  other  the  side  as  it 
fell. 

The  door  opened;  with  the  rush  of  cold  air  Jimmy 
glanced  toward  it,  slid  the  revolver  into  his  pocket,  reached 
for  his  hat,  and  started  in  the  direction  of  his  coat.  "Glad 
to  see  you,  Micnoun,"  he  said.  "If  you  are  goingsh  home, 
I '"11  jish  ride  out  with  you.  Good-night,  boysh.  Don't 
forgetsh  the  coon  hunt."  And  Jimmy  was  gone. 

A  miiviite  later  the  door  opened  again;  this  time  a  man 


RUBEN  AND  THE  MILK  PAIL  79 

of  almost  forty  stepped  inside.  He  had  a  manly  form, 
a  manly  face,  was  above  the  average  in  appearances,  and 
spoke  with  a  slight  Scotch  accent. 

"  Do  any  of  ye  boys  happen  to  know  what  it  was  Jimmy 
had  with  him  when  he  came  in  here?" 

A  roar  of  laughter  greeted  the  query.  The  Thread 
Man  picked  up  the  pail.  As  he  handed  it  to  Dannie, 
he  commented:  "Mr.  Malone  said  he  was  initiating  a  new 
milk  pail,  but  I  am  afraid  he  has  overdone  the  job." 

"Thank  ye,"  said  Dannie,  and  taking  the  battered 
thing,  he  went  into  the  night. 

Jimmy  was  asleep  when  he  reached  the  buggy.  Dannie 
had  long  ago  found  it  convenient  to  have  no  fence  around 
his  cabin.  He  drove  to  the  door,  dragged  Jimmy  from 
the  buggy,  and  stabled  the  horse.  By  hard  work  he  re- 
moved Jimmy's  coat  and  boots,  laid  him  across  the  bed, 
and  covered  him.  Then  he  grimly  looked  at  the  light  in 
the  next  cabin.  "Why  doesna  she  go  to  bed?"  he  said. 
He  summoned  courage,  and  crossing  the  space  between 
the  two  buildings,  he  tapped  on  the  window.  "It's  me, 
Mary,"  he  called.  "The  skins  are  only  half  done,  and 
Jimmy  is  going  to  help  me  finish.  He  will  come  over  in 
the  morning.  Ye  go  to  bed.  .Ye  needna  be  afraid.  We 
will  hear  ye  if  ye  even  snore."  There  was  no  answer, 
but  by  a  movement  in  the  cabin  Dannie  knew  that  Mary 
was  still  dressed  and  waiting.  He  started  back,  but  for  an 
instant,  heedless  of  the  scurrying  snow  and  biting  cold,  he 
faced  the  sky. 

s-     "I  wonder  if  ye  have  na  found  a  glib  tongue  and  light 
feet  the  least  part  o'  matrimony,"  he  said.     "Why  in 


8o         AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

God's  name  couldna  ye  have  married  me?  I'd  like  to 
know  why." 

As  he  closed  the  door,  the  cold  air  aroused  Jimmy. 

"Dannie,"  he  said,  "donsh  forget  the  milk  pail.  All 
'niciate  good  now." 


THE  FIFTY  COONS  OF  THE  CANOPER 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  FIFTY  COONS  OF  THE  CANOPER 

NEAR  noon  of  the  following  day,  Jimmy  opened  his 
eyes  and  stretched  himself  on  Dannie's  bed.  It 
did  not  occur  to  him  that  he  was  sprawled  across 
it  so  that  if  Dannie  had  any  sleep  that  night,  he  had  taken 
it  on  chairs  before  the  fireplace.  At  first  Jimmy  decided 
that  he  had  a  bad  head,  and  would  turn  over  and  go  to 
sleep  again.  Then  he  thought  of  the  coon  hunt,  and  sit- 
ting on  the  edge  of  the  bed  he  laughed,  as  he  looked  for  his 
boots. 

"I  am  glad  ye  are  feeling  so  fine,"  said  Dannie  at  the 
door,  in  a  relieved  voice.  "I  had  a  notion  that  ye  wad  be 
crosser  than  a  badger  when  ye  came  to." 

Jimmy  laughed  again. 

"What's  the  fun?"  inquired  Dannie. 

Jimmy  thought  deeply  a  minute.  Here  was  one  in- 
stance where  the  truth  would  serve  better  than  any  inven- 
tion, so  he  virtuously  told  Dannie  all  about  it.  Dannie 
thought  of  the  lonely  little  woman  next  door,  and  rebelled. 

"But  Jimmy!"  he  cried,  "ye  canna  be  gone  all  nicht 
again.  It's  too  lonely  fra  Mary,  and  there's  always  a 
chance  I  might  sleep  sound  and  wadna  hear  if  she  should 
be  sick  or  need  ye." 

"Then  she  can  just  yell  louder,  or  come  after  you,  or 

83 


84         AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

get  well,  for  I  am  going,  see?  He  was  a  thrid  peddler 
in  a  dinky  little  pleated  coat,  Dannie.  He  laid  up  against 
the  counter  with  his  feet  crossed  at  a  dancing-girl  angle. 
But  I  will  say  for  him  that  he  was  running  at  the  mouth 
with  the  finest  flow  of  language  I  iver  heard.  I  learned  a 
lot  of  it,  and  Cap  knows  the  stuff,  and  I'm  goin'  to  have 
him  get  you  the  book.  But,  Dannie,  he  wouldn't  drink 
with  us,  but  he  stayed  to  iducate  us  up  a  little.  That  little 
spool  man,  Dannie,  iducatin'  Jones  of  the  gravel  gang,  and 
Bingham  of  the  Standard,  and  York  of  the  'lectric  railway » 
and  Haines  of  the  timber  gang,  not  to  mintion  the  cham- 
peen  rat-catcher  of  the  Wabash." 

Jimmy  hugged  himself,  as  he  rocked  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed. 

"Oh,  I  can  just  see  it,  Dannie,"  he  cried.  "I  can  see 
it  now!  I  was  pretty  drunk,  but  I  wasn't  too  drunk  to 
think  of  it,  for  it  came  to  me  sudden  like." 

Dannie  stared  at  Jimmy  wide-eyed,  while  he  explained 
the  details;  then  he  too  began  to  laugh,  while  the  longer  he 
laughed  the  funnier  it  grew. 

"I've  got  to  start,"  said  Jimmy.  "I've  an  ~wful  after- 
noon's work.  I  must  find  him  some  rubber  b^ots.  He's 
to  have  the  inestimable  privilege  of  carryin'  me  gun, 
Dannie,  and  have  the  first  shot  at  the  coons,  fifty,  I'm 
thinkin*  I  said.  And  if  I  don't  put  some  frills  on  his  cute 
little  coat !  Oh,  Dannie,  it  will  break  the  heart  of  me  if  he 
doesn't  wear  that  pleated  coat!" 

Dannie  wiped  his  eyes. 

"Come  on  to  the  kitchen,"  he  said,  "I've  something 
ready  fra  ye  to  eat.  Wash,  while  I  dish  it." 


THE  FIFTY  COONS  OF  THE  CANOPER     85 

"I  wish  to  Heaven  you  were  a  woman,  Dannie,"  said 
Jimmy.  "A  fellow  could  fall  in  love  with  you,  and  marry 
you  with  some  satisfaction.  Crimminy,  but  I'm  hungry ! " 

Jimmy  ate  greedily,  while  Dannie  set  the  cabin  to 
rights.  It  lacked  many  feminine  touches  that  distin- 
guished Jimmy's  as  the  abode  of  a  woman;  but  it  was  neat, 
clean,  and  there  seemed  to  be  a  place  where  everything 
belonged. 

"Now,  I'm  off,"  said  Jimmy,  rising.  "I'll  take  your 
gun,  because  I  ain  t  goin*  to  see  Mary  till  I  get  back." 

"Oh,  Jimmy,  dinna  do  that!"  pleaded  Dannie.  "I 
want  rny  gun.  Go  and  get  your  own;  tell  her  where  ye  are 
going  and  what  ye  are  planning  to  do.  She'd  feel  less 
lonely." 

"I  know  how  she  would  feel  better  than  you  do,"  re- 
torted Jimmy.  "I  am  not  going.  If  you  won't  give  me 
your  gun,  I'll  borrow  one;  or  have  all  my  fun  spoiled." 

Dannie  took  down  the  shining  gun  and  passed  it  over. 
Jimmy  instantly  relented.  He  smiled  a  boyish  smile  that 
always  caught  Dannie  in  his  softest  spot. 

"You  are  the  bist  frind  I  have  on  earth,  Dannie,"  he 
said  winsomely.  "You  are  a  man  worth  tying  to.  By 
gum,  there's  nothing  I  wouldn't  do  for  you!  Now  go  on, 
like  the  good  fellow  you  are,  anH  fix  it  up  with  Mary." 

So  Dannie  started  for  the  wood  pile.  In  summer  he 
could  stand  outside  and  speak  through  the  screen.  In 
winter  he  must  enter  the  cabin  for  errands  like  this,  and 
as  Jimmy's  wood  box  was  as  heavily  weighted  on  his  mind 
as  his  own,  there  was  nothing  unnatural  in  his  stamping 
snow  on  Jimmy's  back  stoop,  and  calling  "Open!"  to  Mary 


86 

at  any  hour  of  the  day  he  happened  to  be  passing  the  wood 
pile. 

He  stood  at  a  distance,  patiently  waiting  until  a  gray 
find  black  nut-hatch  that  foraged  on  the  wood,  covered  all 
the  new  territory  discovered  by  the  last  disturbance  of  the 
pile.  From  loosened  bark  Dannie  watched  the  bird  take 
several  large  white  worms  and  a  few  dormant  ants.  As  it 
flew  away  he  gathered  an  armload  of  wood.  He  was  very 
careful  to  clean  his  feet  on  the  stoop,  place  the  wood  with- 
out tearing  the  neat  covering  of  wall  paper,  and  brush  from 
his  coat  the  snow  and  moss  so  that  it  fell  in  the  box.  He 
had  heard  Mary  tell  the  careless  Jimmy  to  do  all  these 
things,  so  Dannie  knew  that  they  saved  her  work.  There 
was  a  whiteness  on  her  face  that  morning  that  startled 
him,  and  long  after  the  last  particle  of  moss  was  cleaned 
from  his  sleeve  he  bent  over  the  box  trying  to  think  of 
something  to  say.  The  cleaning  took  such  a  length  of 
time  that  the  glint  of  a  smile  crept  into  the  grave  eyes 
of  the  woman,  while  the  grim  line  of  her  lips  softened. 

"Don't  be  feeling  so  badly  about  it,  Dannie,"  she  said. 
"I  could  have  told  you  when  you  went  after  him  last  night 
that  he  would  go  back  as  soon  as  he  wakened  to-day.  I 
know  he  is  gone.  I  watched  him  lave." 

Dannie  brushed  the  other  sleeve,  on  which  there  had 
been  nothing,  and  answered:  "Noo,  dinna  ye  misjudge 
him,  Mary.  He's  goin'  to  a  coon  hunt  to-nicht.  Dinna 
ye  see  him  take  my  gun?" 

This  evidence  so  bolstered  Dannie  that  he  faced  Mary 
mt\\  confidence. 

There's  *  travelling  man  frae  Boston  in  town,  Maryr 


" 


THE  FIFTY  COONS  OF  THE  CANOPER     87 

anet  he  was  edifying  the  boys  a  little,  and  Jimmy  dinna 
like  it.  He's  going  to  show  him  a  little  country  sport 
to-nicht  to  edify  him." 

Dannie  outlined  the  plan  of  Jimmy's  campaign.  De- 
spite disapproval,  and  a  sore  heart,  Mary  Malone  was 
forced  to  smile  —  perhaps  as  much  over  Dannie's  eagerness 
in  telling  what  was  contemplated  as  anything. 

"Why  don't  you  take  Jimmy's  gun  an^  go  yoursilf?" 
she  asked.  "You  haven't  had  a  day  off  since  fishing  was 


"But  I  have  the  work  to  do,"  replied  Dannie,  "and  I 
couldna  leave  -  "  He  stopped  abruptly,  but  the  woman 
supplied  the  word. 

"Why  can't  you  lave  me,  if  Jimmy  can  ?  I'm  not  afraid. 
The  snow  and  the  cold  will  furnish  me  protiction  to-night. 
There'll  be  no  one  to  fear.  Why  should  you  do  Jimmy'c 
work,  and  miss  the  sport,  to  guard  the  thing  he  holds  so 
lightly?" 

The  red  flushed  Dannie's  cheeks.  Mary  never  before 
hsid  spoken  like  that.  He  should  say  something  for  Jimmy 
quickly,  and  quickness  was  not  his  fo*."e.  His  lips  opened, 
bu  t  nothing  came;  for  as  Jimmy  had  boasted,  Dannie  never 
lied,  except  for  him,  while  at  such  times  he  had  careful 
preparation  before  he  faced  Mary.  Now,  he  was  over- 
taken unawares.  He  appeared  so  boyish  in  his  confusion, 
the  mother  in  Mary's  heart  was  touched. 

"I'll  till  you  what  we'll  do,  Dannie,"  she  said.  "You 
tind  the  stock,  and  bring  in  wood  enough  so  that  things 
won't  be  frazin'  here;  and  then  you  hitch  up  and  I'll  go 
with  you  to  town,  and  stay  all  night  with  Mrs.  Dolan. 


88         AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

You  can  put  the  horse  in  my  sister's  stable,  and  whin  you 
and  Jimmy  get  back,  you'll  be  tired  enough  that  you'll  be 
glad  to  ride  home.  A  visit  with  Katie  will  be  good  for  me; 
I  have  been  blue  the  last  few  days,  and  I  can  see  you  are 
just  aching  to  go  with  the  boys.  Isn't  that  a  fine  plan?" 

"I  should  say  that  is  a  guid  plan,"  answered  the  de- 
lighted Dannie.  Anything  to  save  Mary  another  mght 
alone  was  good,  and  then — that  coon  hunt  did  sound  allur- 
ing. 

So  it  happened  that  at  nine  o'clock  the  same  night,  while 
arrangements  were  being  completed  at  Casey's,  Dannie 
Macnoun  stepped  into  the  gr^up  and  said  to  the  astonished 
Jimmy:  "Mary  wanted  to  come  to  her  sister's  over  nichr, 
«o  I  fixed  everything,  and  I'm  going  to  the  coon  hunt,  too, 
if  you  boys  want  me.** 

The  crowd  closed  around  Dannie,  patted  his  back  and 
cheered  him;  he  was  introduced  to  Mister  O'Khayam,  of 
Boston,  who  tried  to  drown  the  clamour  enough  to  te,(l 
what  his  name  really  was,  "in  case  of  accident";  but  he 
could  not  be  heard  for  Jimmy  yelling  that  a  good  old  Irish 
name  like  O'Khay~~n  could  not  be  beaten  in  case  of  any" 
thing.  Dannie  hastily  glanced  at  the  Thread  Man,  to  see 
if  he  wore  that  hated  pleated  coat,  which  was  the  cause  of 
Jimmy's  anger. 

Then  they  started.  Casey's  wife  was  to  be  left  in  charge 
of  the  saloon,  and  the  Thread  Man  half  angered  Casey  by 
a  whispered  conversation  with  her  in  a  corner.  Jimmy 
cut  his  crowd  as  low  as  he  possibly  could,  but  it  numbered 
fifteen  men,  while  no  one  counted  the  dogs.  Jimmy  led 
the  way,  the  Thread  Man  beside  him,  and  the  crowd  fol- 


THE  FIFTY  COONS  OF  THE  CANOPER     89 

lowed.  The  walking  would  be  better  to  follow  the  railroad 
to  the  Canoper;  also  they  could  cross  the  railroad  bridge 
over  the  river  and  save  quite  a  distance. 

Jimmy  helped  the  Thread  Man  into  a  borrowed  over- 
coat and  mittens,  loaded  him  with  a  twelve-pound  gun, 
and  they  started.  Jimmy  carried  a  torch,  but  as  torch 
bearer  he  was  a  failure,  for  he  had  a  careless  way  of  turning 
it  and  flashing  it  into  people's  faces  that  compelled  them 
to  jump  to  save  themselves.  Where  the  track  lay  clear  and 
straight  ahead  the  torch  seemed  to  light  it  like  day;  but  in 
dark  places  it  was  suddenly  lowered  or  wavering  somewhere 
else.  It  was  through  this  carelessness  of  Jimmy's  that  at 
the  first  cattle-£uard  north  of  the  village  the  torch  flickered 
backward,  ostensibly  to  locate  Dannie,  and  the  Thread  Man 
went  crashing  between  the  iron  bars,  and  across  the  gun. 
Instantly  Jimmy  sprawled  on  top  of  him,  and  the  next  two 
men  followed.  The  torch  plowed  into  the  snow  and  went 
out,  while  the  yells  of  Jimmy  alarmed  the  adjoining  village. 

He  was  hurt  the  worst  of  all,  and  the  busiest  getting  in 
marching  order  again.  "Howly  smoke!"  he  panted.  "I 
was  havin'  the  time  of  me  life,  and  plumb  forgot  that  cow- 
kitcher.  Thought  it  was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away  yet. 
And  liked  to  killed  meself  with  me  carelessness.  But 
that's  always  the  way  in  true  sport.  You  got  to  take  the 
knocks  with  the  fun."  No  one  asked  the  Thread  Man  if  he 
were  hurt,  and  he  did  not  like  to  seem  unmanly  by  men- 
tioning a  skinned  shin,  when  Jimmy  Malone  seemed  to 
have  bursted  most  of  his  inside;  so  he  shouldered  his  gun 
and  limped  along,  now  slightly  in  the  rear  of  Jimmy.  The 
river  bridge  was  a  serious  matter  with  its  icy  coat,  and 


90         AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

danger  of  specials,  so  the  torches  suddenly  flashed  from  all 
sides;  while  the  Thread  Man  gave  thanks  for  Dannie  Mac- 
noun,  who  reached  him  a  steady  hand  across  the  ties. 

The  walk  was  three  miles;  the  railroad  lay  at  an  eleva- 
tion of  from  twenty  to  thirty  feet  beside  the  river  and 
through  the  bottom  land.  The  Boston  man  would  have 
been  thankful  for  the  light,  but  as  the  last  man  stepped 
from  the  ties  of  the  bridge  all  the  torches  went  out  save 
one.  Jimmy  explained  they  were  forced  to  save  them  so 
that  they  could  see  where  the  coons  fell  when  they  began 
to  shake  the  trees. 

Beside  the  water  tank,  and  where  the  embankment  was 
twenty  feet  sheer,  Jimmy  was  cautioning  the  Boston  man 
to  look  out,  when  the  hunter  next  behind  him  gave  a  wiid 
yell  and  plunged  into  his  back.  Jimmy's  grab  for  him 
kerned  more  a  push  than  a  pull,  so  the  three  rolled  to  the 
bottom,  and  halfway  across  the  flooded  ditch.  The  ditch 
was  frozen  over,  but  they  were  shaken,  and  smothered  in 
snow.  The  whole  howling  party  came  streaming  down  the 
embankment.  Dannie  held  aloft  his  torch  and  discovered 
Jimmy  lying  face  down  in  a  drift,  making  no  effort  to  rise, 
while  the  Thread  Man  feebly  tugged  at  him  and  implored 
some  one  to  come  and  help  get  Malone  out.  Then  Dan- 
nie slunk  behind  the  others  and  yelled  until  he  was  tired. 
By  and  by  Jimmy  allowed  himself  to  be  dragged  out 

"Who  the  thunder  was  that  come  buttin'  into  us?"  he 
blustered.  "I  don't  allow  no  man  to  butt  into  me  when 
I'm  on  an  imbankmint.  Send  the  fool  here  till  I  kill  him." 

The  Thread  Man  was  pulling  at  Jimmy's  arm.  "  Don't 
mind,  Jimmy,"  he  gasped.  "It  was  an  accident!  The 


THE  FIFTY  COONS  OF  THE  CANOPER     91 

man  slipped.  This  is  an  awful  place.  I  will  be  glad  when 
we  reach  the  woods.  I'll  feel  safer  with  ground  that's 
holding  up  trees  under  my  feet.  Come  on,  now!  Are  we 
not  almost  there  ?  Should  we  not  keep  quiet  from  now  on  I 
Will  we  not  alarm  the  coons  ?" 

"Sure,"  said  Jimmy.  "Boys,  don't  hollo  so  much. 
Every  blamed  coon  will  be  scared  out  of  its  hollow!" 

"Amazing!"  said  the  Thread  Man.  "How  clever! 
Came  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  I  must  remember  that 
to  tell  the  Club.  Do  not  hollo!  Scare  the  coon  out  of  its 
hollow!" 

uOh,  I  do  miles  of  things  like  that,"  said  Jimmy  dryly, 
"and  mostly  I  have  to  do  thim  before  the  spur  of  the  mo- 
mc'.nt;  because  cur  moments  go  so  domn  fast  out  he^ 
mighty  few  of  thim  have  time  to  grow  their  spurs  before 
they  are  gone.  Here's  where  we  turn.  Now,  boys, 
they've  been  trying  to  get  this  biler  across  the  tracks  here, 
and  they've  broke  the  ice.  The  water  in  this  ditch  is  three 
feet  deep  and  freezing  cold.  They've  stuck  getting  the 
biler  over,  but  I  wonder  if  we  can't  cross  on  it,  and  hit  the 
wood  beyond.  Maybe  we  can  walk  it." 

Jimmy  set  a  foot  on  the  ice-covered  boiler,  howled,  and 
fell  back  on  the  men  behind  him.  "  Jimminy  crickets,  we 
niver  can  do  that!"  he  yelled.  "It's  a  glare  of  ice  and 
roundin'.  Let's  crawl  through  it!  The  rist  of  you  can  get 
through  if  I  can.  We'd  better  take  off  our  overcoats,  to 
make  us  smaller.  We  can  roll  thim  into  a  bundle,  and  the 
last  man  can  pull  it  through  behind  him." 

Jimmy  threw  off  his  coat  and  entered  the  wrecked  oil 
engine.  He  knew  how  to  hobble  through  on  his  toes,  but; 


92     .    AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

the  pleated  coat  of  the  Boston  man,  who  tried  to  pas? 
through  by  stooping,  suffered  almost  all  Jimmy  had  in 
store  for  it.  Jimmy  came  out  all  right  with  a  shout.  The 
Thread  Man  did  not  step  half  so  far,  and  landed  knee  deep 
in  the  icy  oil-covered  slush  of  the  ditch.  That  threw  him 
off  his  balance,  and  Jimmy  let  him  sink  one  arm  in  the  pool, 
then  grabbed  him,  and  scooped  oil  on  his  back  with  the 
other  hand  while  he  pulled.  During  the  excitement  and 
struggles  of  Jimmy  and  the  Thread  Man,  the  remainder  of 
the  party  jumped  the  ditch  and  gathered  around,  rubbing 
soot  and  oil  on  the  Boston  man,  who  did  not  see  how  they 
crossed. 

Jimmy  continued  to  decorate  the  hated  coat  industri- 
ously. The  dogs  leaped  the  ditch,  and  the  instant  thuty 
reached  the  woods  broke  away  baying  over  fresh  tracks. 
The  men  yelled  like  mad.  Jimmy  struggled  into  his  over- 
coat, helped  the  almost  insane  Boston  man  into  his,  avid 
then  they  hurried  after  the  dogs. 

The  scent  was  so  new  and  clear  the  dogs  raged.  The 
Thread  Man  was  wild,  Jimmy  was  wilder,  and  the  thirteen 
contributed  all  they  could  for  laughing.  Dannie  forgot  to 
be  ashamed  of  himself  and  followed  the  example  of  the 
crowd.  Deeper  and  deeper  into  the  wild,  swampy  Canoper 
led  the  chase. 

With  a  man  on  either  side  to  guide  him  into  the  deepest 
holes  and  to  shove  him  into  bushy  thickets,  the  skinned, 
soot-covered,  oil-coated  Boston  man  toiled  and  sweated. 
He  had  no  time  to  think,  the  excitement  was  so  intense. 
He  scrambled  out  of  each  pitfall  set  for  him,  and  plunged 
into  the  next  with  such  uncomplaining  bravery  that  Dan- 


THE  FIFTY  COONS  OF  THE  CANOPER     93 

flje  very  shortly  grew  ashamed,  and  crowding  beside  him 
he  took  the  heavy  gun  and  tried  to  protect  him  all  he 
could  without  falling  under  the  eye  of  Jimmy,  who  was 
keeping  close  watch. 

Wild  yelling  told  that  the  dogs  had  treed,  and  with  shak- 
ing fingers  the  Thread  Man  pulled  off  the  big  mittens  he 
wore  and  tried  to  lift  the  gun.  Jimmy  flashed  a  torch,  and 
sure  enough,  in  the  top  of  a  medium  hickory  tree,  the  light 
was  reflected  in  streams  from  the  big  shining  eyes  of  a  coon. 
"Treed!"  yelled  jimmy  frantically.  "Treed!  and  big  as 
an  elephant.  Company's  first  shot.  Here,  Mister  O'Kha- 
yam,  here's  a  good  place  to  stand.  Gee,  what  luck!  Coon 
in  sight  first  thing,  and  Mellen's  food  coon  at  that!  Shoot, 
Mister  O'Khayam,  shoot!" 

The  Thread  Man  lifted  the  wavering  gun,  but  it  was  no 
use. 

"Tell  you  what,  Ruben,"  said  Jimmy.  "You  are  too 
tired  to  shoot  straight.  Let's  take  a  rist,  and  ate  our 
lunch.  Then  we'll  cut  down  the  tree  and  let  the  dogs  get 
cooney.  That  way  there  won't  be  any  shot  marks  in  his 
skin.  What  do  you  say ?  Is  that  a  good  plan?" 

They  all  said  that  was  the  proper  course,  so  they  built  a 
fire,  and  placed  the  Thread  Man  where  he  could  see  the 
gleaming  eyes  of  the  frightened  coon,  and  where  all  of  them 
could  feast  on  his  soot  and  oil-covered  face.  Then  they 
opened  the  bag  and  passed  the  sandwiches. 

"I  really  am  hungry,"  said  the  weary  Thread  Man, 
biting  into  his  with  great  relish.  His  jaws  moved  once  or 
twice  experimentally,  then  he  lifted  his  handkerchief  to  his 
lips. 


94         AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

"I  wish  'twas  as  big  as  me  head,"  said  Jimmy,  taking  a 
great  bite,  and  then  he  began  to  curse  uproariously. 

"What  ails  the  things?"  inquired  Dannie,  ejecting 
a  mouthful.  Then  all  of  them  began  to  eject  birdshot,  and 
started  an  inquest  simultaneously.  Jimmy  raged.  He 
swore  some  enemy  had  secured  the  bag  and  ruined  the 
feast;  but  the  boys  who  knew  him  laughed  until  it  seemed 
the  Thread  Man  must  suspect.  He  indignantly  declared 
it  was  a  dirty  trick.  By  the  light  of  the  fire  he  knelt  and 
tried  to  free  one  of  the  sandwiches  from  its  sprinkling  of 
birdshot,  so  that  it  would  be  fit  for  poor  Jimmy,  who  had 
worked  so  hard  to  lead  them  there  and  tree  the  coon.  For 
the  first  time  Jimmy  seemed  thoughtful. 

But  the  sight  of  the  Thread  Man  was  too  tempting,  so 
a.  second  later  he  was  thrusting  an  ax  into  the  hands  ac- 
"gstomed  to  handling  a  thread  case.  Then  he  led  the 
way  to  the  tree,  and  began  chopping  at  the  green  hickory. 
It  was  slow  work,  and  soon  the  perspiration  streamed. 
Jimmy  pulled  off  his  coat  and  threw  it  aside.  He  assisted 
the  Thread  Man  out  of  his  and  tossed  it  behind  him.  The 
coat  alighted  in  the  fire,  and  was  badly  scorched  before 
it  was  rescued.  The  Thread  Man  was  "game."  Fifty 
times  that  night  it  had  been  said  that  he  was  to  have  the 
first  coon,  of  course  he  should  work  for  it.  So  with  the 
ax  with  which  Casey  chopped  ice  for  his  refrigerator, 
the  Boston  man  hacked  the  hickory,  and  swore  to  him- 
self because  he  could  not  make  the  chips  fly  as  Jimmy 
did. 

"Ivrybody  clear  out!"  cried  Jimmy.  "Number  one 
is  coming  down.  Get  the  coffee  sack  ready.  Baste 


THE  FIFTY  COONS  OF  THE  CANOPER     95 

cooney  over  the  head  and  shove  him  in  before  the  dogs 
tear  the  skin.  We  want  a  dandy  big  pelt  out  of  this ! " 

There  was  a  crack,  then  the  tree  fell  with  a  crash.  All 
the  Boston  man  could  see  was  that  from  a  tumbled  pile  of 
branches,  dogs,  and  men,  some  one  at  last  stepped  back, 
gripping  a  sack,  and  cried:  "Got  it  all  right,  and  it's  a 
buster." 

"Now  for  the  other  forty-nine!"  shouted  Jimmy,  strug- 
gling into  his  coat. 

"Come  on,  boys,  we  must  secure  a  coon  for  every  one," 
cried  the  Thread  Man,  heartily  as  any  member  of  the 
party  might  have  said  it.  But  the  boys  suddenly  grew 
tired.  They  did  not  want  any  coons,  so  after  some  per- 
suasion the  party  agreed  to  return  to  Casey's  to  warm  up. 
The  Thread  Man  put  on  his  scorched,  besooted,  oil- 
smeared  coat,  the  overcoat  which  had  been  lent  him,  and 
shouldered  the  gun.  Jimmy  hesitated.  But  Dannie  came 
up  to  the  Boston  man  and  said: 

"There's  a  place  in  my  shoulder  that  gun  juist  fits,  and 
it's  lonesome  without  it.  Pass  it  over." 

It  was  Dannie,  too,  who  whispered  to  the  Thread  Man 
to  keep  close  behind  him.  When  the  party  trudged  back 
to  Casey's  it  was  so  surprising  how  much  better  Dannie 
knew  the  way  going  back  than  Jimmy  had  known  it  com- 
ing, that  the  Thread  Man  was  led  to  remark  about  it. 
But  Jimmy  explained  that  after  one  had  been  out  a  few 
hours  his  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  darkness  and  he 
could  see  better.  That  was  reasonable,  for  the  Thread 
Man  knew  it  was  true  in  his  own  experience. 

So  they  returned  to  Casey's,  where  they  found  a  long 


96         AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

table  set,  and  a  steaming  big  oyster  supper  ready  for  them; 
which  explained  the  Thread  Man's  conference  with  Mrs. 
Casey.  He  took  the  head  of  the  table,  with  his  back  to  the 
wall,  and  placed  Jimmy  on  his  right  and  Dannie  on  his 
left. 

Mrs.  Casey  had  furnished  soap  and  towels,  so  at  least 
part  of  the  Boston  man's  face  was  clean.  The  oysters 
were  fine,  and  well  cooked.  The  Thread  Man  recited 
more  of  the  wonderful  poem  for  Dannie's  benefit,  and  told 
jokes  and  stories.  They  laughed  until  they  were  so  weak 
they  could  only  pound  the  table  to  indicate  how  funny  it 
was.  As  they  were  making  a  movement  to  rise,  Casey 
proposed  that  he  bring  in  the  coon,  so  all  of  them  could 
see  their  night's  work.  The  Thread  Man  applauded; 
Casey  brought  in  the  bag  and  shook  it  bottom  up  over  the 
floor.  Therefrom  issued  a  poor,  frightened,  maltreated 
little  pet  coon  of  Mrs.  Casey's.  It  dexterously  ran  up 
Casey's  trouser  leg  and  hid  its  nose  in  his  collar,  its  chain 
dragging  behind.  That  was  so  funny  the  boys  doubled 
over  the  table,  and  laughed  and  screamed  until  a  sudden 
movement  brought  them  to  their  senses. 

The  Thread  Man  arose,  his  eyes  no  laughing  matter. 
He  gripped  his  chair  back,  and  leaned  toward  Jimmy. 
"You  walked  me  into  that  cattle-guard  on  purpose!"  he 
cried. 

Silence. 

"You  led  me  into  that  boiler,  and  knew  about  the  oil  at 
the  end!" 

No  answer. 

"You  mauled  me  all  over  the  woods,  loaded  those  sand- 


THE  FIFTY  COONS  OF  THE  CANOPER     97 

wiches  yourself,  and  sored  me  for  a  week  trying  to  chop 

down  a  tree  with  a  pet  coon  chained  in  it!  You '* 

You !  What  had  I  done  to  you?" 

"You  wouldn't  drink  with  me,  and  I  didn't  like  the 
domned,  dinky,  little  pleated  coat  you  wore,"  answered 
Jimmy. 

One  instant  amazement  heM  sway  on  the  Thread  Man's 
face;  the  next,  "And  damned  if  I  like  yours!"  he  cried, 
and  catching  up  a  bowl  half  filled  with  broth  he  flung  it 
squarely  into  Jimmy's  face. 

Jimmy,  with  an  oath,  sprang  at  the  Boston  man.  Once 
in  his  life  Dannie  was  quick.  He  caught  the  uplifted  fist 
in  a  grip  that  mastered  Jimmy  because  of  his  use  of 
whiskey  and  suffering  from  rheumatism. 

"Steady — Jimmy,  wait  a  minute,"  panted  Dannie. 
"This  mon  is  na  even  wi*  ye  yet.  When  every  muscle  in 
your  body  is  strained,  and  every  inch  of  it  bruised,  and 
ye  are  daubed  wi'  soot,  and  bedraggled  in  oil,  and  he's 
made  ye  the  laughin'  stock  fra  strangers  by  the  hour,  ye 
will  be  juist  even,  and  ready  to  talk  to  him.  Every  minute 
of  the  nicht  he's  proved  himself  a  mon,  and  right  now  he's 
showed  he's  na  coward.  It's  up  to  ye,  Jimmy.  Do  it 
r-oyal.  Be  as  much  of  a  mon  as  he  is.  Say  ye  are  sorry!" 

One  tense  instant  the  two  friends  faced  each  other. 

Then  Jimmy's  fist  unclenched,  and  his  arms  dropped. 
Dannie  stepped  back,  trying  to  breathe  lightly.  The 
issue  was  between  Jimmy  and  the  Thread  Man. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Jimmy.  "I  carried  my  objictions 
to  your  wardrobe  too  far.  If  you'll  let  me,  I'll  clean  you 
up.  If  you'll  take  it,  I'll  raise  you  the  price  of  a  new  coat, 


98         AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

but  I'll  be  domn  if  I'll  hilp  put  such  a  man  as  you  are  into 
another  of  the  fiminine  ginder." 

The  Thread  Man  laughed,  and  shook  Jimmy's  hand;  and 
then  Jimmy  proved  why  every  one  liked  him  by  turning 
to  Dannie  and  taking  his  hand.  "Thank  you,  Dannie," 
he  said.  "You  sure  hilped  me  to  mesilf  that  time.  If  I'd 
hit  him,  I  couldn't  have  hild  up  me  head  in  the  morning." 


WHEN  THE  KINGFISHER  AND  THE  BLACK 
BASS  CAME  HOME 


CHAPTER  IV 


CRIMMINY,  but  you  are  slow."  Jimmy  made  the 
statement,  not  as  one  voices  a  newly  discovered 
fact,  but  as  one  iterates  a  time-worn  truism.  He 
sat  on  a  girder  of  the  Limberlost  bridge,  and  scraped  the 
black  muck  from  his  boots  in  a  heap.  Then  he  twisted 
a  stick  into  the  top  of  his  rat  sack,  preparatory  to  the 
walk  home. 

The  ice  had  broken  on  the  river,  so  now  the  partners 
had  to  separate  at  the  bridge,  each  following  his  own  line 
of  traps  to  the  last  one;  then  return  to  the  bridge  so  that 
Jimmy  could  cross  to  reach  home.  Jimmy  was  always 
Waiting,  after  the  river  opened.  It  was  a  remarkable  fact 
to  him  that  as  soon  as  the  ice  was  gone  his  luck  failed  him. 
This  evening  the  bag  at  his  feet  proved  by  its  bulk  that 
it  contained  about  one-half  the  rats  Dannie  carried. 

"I  must  set  my  traps  in  myjown  way,'*  answered  Dannie 
calmly.  "If  I  stuck  them  into  the  water  ony  way  and 
went  on,  so  would  the  rats.  A  trap  is  no  a  trap  unless  it 
is  concealed." 

"That's  it!  Go  on  and  give  me  a  sarmon!"  urged 
Jimmy  derisively.  "Who's  got  the  bulk  of  the  rats  all 
winter?  The  truth  is  that  my  side  of  the  river  is  the  best 

101 


102        AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

catching  in  the  extrame  cold,  but  you  get  the  most  after 
the  thaws  begin  to  come.  The  rats  seem  to  have  a  lot 
of  burrows  to  shift  around  among.  One  time  I'm  ahead; 
the  nixt  day  they  go  to  you:  but  it  don't  mane  that 
you  are  any  better  trapper  than  I  am.  I  only  got 
sivin  to-night.  That's  a  sweet  day's  work  for  a  wholes 
man.  Fifteen  cints  apace  for  sivin  rats.  I've  a  big 
notion  to  cut  the  rat  business,  and  compete  with  Rocky  in 
ile." 

Dannie  laughed.  "Let's  hurry  home,  and  get  the 
skinning  over  before  nicht,"  he  said.  "I  think  the  days 
are  growing  a  little  longer.  I  seem  to  scent  spring  in  the 
air  to-day." 

Jimmy  looked  at  Dannie's  mud-covered,  wet  clothing, 
his  blood-stained  mittens  and  coat  back,  and  the  dripping 
bag  he  had  rested  on  the  bridge.  "I've  got  some  music 
in  me  head,  and  some  action  in  me  feet,"  he  said,  "but  I 
guess  God  forgot  to  put  much  sintimint  into  me  heart. 
The  breath  of  spring  niver  got  so  strong  with  me  that  I 
could  smell  it  above  a  bag  of  muskrats  and  me  trappin* 
clothes." 

He  arose,  swung  his  bag  to  his  shoulder,  then  together 
they  left  the  bridge,  and  took  the  road  leading  to  Rainbow 
Bottom.  It  was  late  February.  The  air  was  raw;  the 
walking  heavy.  Jimmy  saw  little  around  him,  while  there 
was  little  Dannie  did  not  see.  To  him,  his  farm,  the  river, 
and  the  cabins  in  Rainbow  Bottom  meant  all  of  life,  for  all 
he  loved  on  earth  was  there.  But  loafing  in  town  on 
rainy  days,  when  Dannie  sat  with  a  book;  hearing  the 
talk  at  Casev's,  at  the  hotel,  and  on  the  streets,  had  given 


KINGFISHER  AND  THE  BLACK  BASS     103 

Jimmy  different  views;  making  his  lot  seem  paltry  com* 
pared  with  that  of  men  who  had  greater  possessions. 

On  days  when  Jimmy's  luck  was  bad,  or  when  a  fever 
of  thirst  burned  him,  he  usually  discoursed  on  some  sort 
of  intangible  experience  that  men  had,  which  he  called 
"seeing  life."  His  rat  bag  was  unusually  light  that  night. 
In  a  vague  way  he  connected  it  with  the  breaking  up  of  the 
ice.  When  the  river  lay  solid  he  mostly  carried  home 
twice  as  many  rats  as  Dannie;  because  he  had  patronized 
Dannie  all  his  life,  it  fretted  Jimmy  to  be  behind  even  on* 
day. 

"Begorra,  I  get  tired  of  this!"  he  said.  "Always  and 
foriver  the  same  thing.  I  kape  goin'  this  trail  so  much 
that  I've  got  a  speakin'  acquaintance  with  meself.  Some 
of  these  days  I'm  goin'  to  take  a  trip,  for  a  little  change. 
I'd  like  to  see  Chicago,  and  as  far  west  as  the  middle, 
anyway." 

"Well,  ye  canna  go,"  said  Dannie.  "Ye  mind  the 
time  when  ye  were  married,  and  I  thought  I'd  be  best 
away,  so  I  packed  my  trunk?  When  ye  and  Mary  caught 
me,  ye  got  mad  as  fire,  and  she  cried,  and  I  had  to  stay. 
Juist  ye  try  going,  and  I'll  get  mad,  and  Mary  will  cry, 
and  ye  will  stay  at  home,  juist.  like  I  did." 

There  was  a  fear  deep  in  Dannie's  soul  that  some  day 
Jimmy  would  fulfill  this  long-time  threat  of  his. 

"I  dinna  think  there  is  ony  place  in  all  the  world  so 
guid  as  the  place  ye  own,"  Dannie  said  earnestly.  "I 
dinna  care  a  penny  what  anybody  else  has,  probably  they 
have  what  they  want.  What  /  want  is  the  land  that  my 
feyther  owned  before  me,  and  the  house  that  my  mither 


st>4        AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

kept.  And  they'll  have  to  show  me  the  place  they  call 
Eden,  before  I'll  give  up  that  it  beats  Rainbow  Bottom- <- 
summer,  autumn,  or  winter.  I  dinna  give  twa  hoops  fra 
the  palaces  men  rig  up,  or  the  thing  they  call  'landscape 
gardening/  When  did  men  ever  compete  with  the  work 
of  God?  All  the  men  that  have  peopled  the  earth  since 
time  began  could  have  their  brains  rolled  into  one,  anil 
he  would  stand  helpless  before  the  anatomy  of  one  of  the 
rats  in  these  bags.  The  thing  God  does  is  guid  enough 
fra  me/' 

"Why  don't  you  take  a  short  cut  to  the  matin'-houser  * 
inquired  Jimmy. 

"Because  I  wad  have  nothing  to  say  when  I  got  there,  " 
retorted  Dannie.  "I've  a  meetin'-house  of  my  ain,  and  it 
juist  suits  me;  and  I've  a  God,  too,  and  whether  He  is 
spirit  or  essence,  He  suits  me.  I  dinna  want  to  be  held  t«i 
sharper  account  than  He  faces  me  up  to,  when  I  hoM 
communion  with  mesel'.  I  dinna  want  any  better  meetin  • 
house  than  Rainbow  Bottom.  I  dinna  care  for  better 
talkin'  than  the  'tongues  in  the  trees';  sounder  preach  in' 
than  the  'sermons  in  the  stones';  finer  readin'  than  the 
books  in  the  river;  no,  nor  better  music  than  the  choir  <./ 
the  birds,  each  singin'  in  its  ain  way  fit  to  burst  its  lee  tic 
throat  about  the  mate  it  won,  the  nest  they  built,  and  dhe 
babies  they  are  raising.  That's  what  I  call  the  music  <>* 
God,  spontaneous,  and  the  soul  o'  joy.  Give  it  to  me 
every  time  compared  with  notes  frae  a  book.  And  all  the 
fine  places  that  the  wealth  o'  men  ever  evolved  winna  be- 
gin to  compare  with  the  work  o'  God,  such  as  I've  got. 
around  me  every  day." 


KINGFISHER  AND  THE  BLACK  BASS     105 

"But  I  want  to  see  life,"  wailed  Jimmy. 

"Then  open  your  eyes,  mon,  fra  the  love  o'  mercy,  open 
your  eyes!  There's  life  sailing  over  your  heid  in  that  flock 
o*  crows  going  home  fra  the  night.  Why  dinna  ye,  or 
some  other  mon,  fly  like  that?  There's  living  roots,  and 
seeds,  and  insects,  and  worms  by  the  million  wherever  ye 
are  setting  foot.  Why  dinna  ye  creep  into  the  earth  and 
sleep  through  the  winter,  and  renew  your  life  with  the 
spring?  The  trouble  with  ye,  Jimmy,  is  that  ye've  always 
followed  your  heels.  If  ye'd  stayed  by  the  books,  as  I 
begged  ye,  there  now  would  be  that  in  your  heid  that  would 
teach  ye  that  the  old  story  of  the  Rainbow  is  true.  There 
is  a  pot  of  gold,  of  the  purest  gold  ever  smelted,  at  its  foot, 
and  we've  been  born  and  own  a  good  living  richt  tnere. 
An'  the  gold  is  there;  that  I  know,  wealth  to  shame  any 
bilious  millionaire,  and  both  of  us  missing  the  pot  when  we 
hold  the  location.  Ye've  the  first  chance,  mon,  fra  in  your 
life  is  the  great  prize  mine  will  forever  lack.  I  canna  get 
to  the  bottom  of  the  pot,  but  I'm  going  to  come  close  to  it 
as  I  can;  and  as  for  ye,  empty  it!  Take  it  all!  It's  yours! 
It's  fra  the  mon  who  finds  it,  and  we  own  the  location." 

"Aha!  *We  own  the  location,'"  repeated  Jimmy.  "I 
should  say  we  do!  Behold  pur  hotbed  of  riches!  I  often 
lay  awake  nights  thinkin' about  my  attachmint  to  the  place: 

"How  dear  to  me  heart  are  the  scanes  of  me  childhood, 
Fondly  gaze  on  the  cabin  where  I'm  doomed  to  dwell, 
Those  chicken-coop,  thim  pig-pen,  these  highly  piled-wood 
Around  which  I've  always  raised  heiL" 

Jimmy  turned  in  at  his  own  gate,  while  Dannie  passed 
to  the  cabin  beyond.  He  entered,  set  the  dripping  rat 


106        AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

bag  in  a  tub,  raked  open  the  buried  fire  and  threw  on  a  log. 
He  always  ate  at  Jimmy's  when  Jimmy  was  at  home,  so 
there  was  no  supper  to  get.  He  went  to  the  barn,  wading 
mud  ankle  deep,  fed  and  bedded  his  horses;  then  entered 
Jimmy's  barn,  and  completed  his  work  up  to  milking. 
Jimmy  came  out  with  a  pail  having  a  very  large  hole  in  the 
bottom  covered  with  dried  dough.  He  looked  at  it  dis- 
approvingly. 

"I  bought  a  new  milk  pail  the  other  night.  I  know  I 
did,"  he  said.  "Mary  was  kicking  for  one  a  month  ago, 
so  I  went  after  it  the  night  I  met  Ruben  O'Khayam. 
Now  what  the  nation  did  I  do  with  that  pail?" 

"I  have  wondered  mysel',"  answered  Dannie,  as  he 
lifted  a  strangely  shaped  object  from  a  barrel.  "This  is 
what  ye  brought  home,  Jimmy." 

Jimmy  stared  at  the  shining,  battered,  bullet-punctured 
pail  in  amazement.  Slowly  he  turned  it  over,  around,  and 
then  he  lifted  bewildered  eyes  to  Dannie. 

"Are  you  foolin'?"  he  asked.  "Did  I  bring  that  thing 
home  in  that  shape?" 

"Honest!"  said  Dannie. 

"I  remember  buyin*  it,"  said  Jimmy  slowly.  "I  re- 
member hanging  on  to  it  like  grim  death,  for  it  was  the  wan 

excuse  I  had  for  goin',  but  I  don't  just  recall  how !'* 

Slowly  he  revolved  the  pail;  suddenly  he  rolled  over  on  the 
hay  and  laughed  until  he  was  tired.  Then  he  sat  up  and 
wiped  his  eyes.  "Great  day!  What  a  lot  of  fun  1  must 
have  had  before  I  got  that  milk  pail  into  that  shape,"  he 
said.  "Domned  if  I  don't  go  straight  to  town  and  buy 
another  one;  yes,  bedad!  I'll  buy  two!" 


KINGFISHER  AND  THE  BLACK  BASS     107 

In  the  meantime  Dannie  milked,  fed  and  watered  the 
cattle,  so  Jimmy  picked  up  the  pail  of  milk  and  carried  it  to 
the  cabin.  Dannie  came  past  the  wood  pile  and  brought 
in  a  heavj  load.  Then  they  washed,  and  sat  down  to 
supper. 

"Seems  to  me  you  look  unusually  perky,"  said  Jimmy  to 
his  wife.  "Had  any  good  news?" 

"Splendid!"  said  Mary.  "I  am  so  glad!  And  I  don't 
belave  you  two  stupids  know!" 

"You  niver  can  tell  by  loo  kin'  at  me  what  I  know,** 
said  Jimmy.  "Whin  I  look  the  wisest  I  know  the  least. 
Whin  I  look  like  a  fool,  I'm  thinkin'  like  a  philosopher." 

"Give  it  up,"  said  Dannie  promptly.  You  would  not 
catch  him  knowing  anything  it  would  make  Mary's  eyes 
shine  to  tell. 

"Sap  is  running!"  announced  Mary. 

"The  divil  you  say!"  cried  Jimmy. 

"It  is!"  beamed  Mary.  "It  will  be  full  in  three  days. 
Didn't  you  notice  how  green  the  maples  are  ?  I  took  a  walk 
down  to  the  bottom  to-day.  I  niver  in  all  my  life  was  so 
tired  of  winter.  The  first  thing  I  saw  was  that  wet  look 
on  the  maples,  while  on  the  low  land,  where  they  are 
sheltered  yet  in  the  sun,  several  of  them  are  oozing!" 

"Grand!"  cried  Dannie.  "Jimmy,  we  must  peel  those 
rats  in  a  hurry,  and  then  clean  the  spiles,  and  see  howmony 
new  ones  we  will  need.  To-morrow  we  must  come  frae 
the  traps  early  enough  to  look  up  our  troughs." 

"Oh,  for  pity  sake,  don't  pile  up  work  enough  to  kill  a 
horse,"  cried  Jimmy.  "Ain't  you  ever  happy  unless  you 
are  workin'  ? " 


ro8       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

"Yes,"  said  Dannie.  "Sometimes  I  find  a  book  that 
suits  me;  sometimes  the  fish  bite,  and  sometimes  it's  in  the 
air." 

"Git  the  condinser,"  said  Jimmy.  "And  that  reminds 
me,  Mary,  Dannie  smelled  spring  in  the  air,  to-day." 

"Well,  what  if  he  did?"  questioned  Mary.  "I  can  al- 
ways smell  it.  A  little  later,  when  the  sap  begins  to  run  in 
all  the  trees,  when  the  buds  swell,  and  the  ice  breaks  up, 
and  the  wild  geese  go  over,  I  always  scent  spring;  and 
when  the  catkins  bloom,  then  it  comes  strong  so  I  just  love 
it.  Spring  is  my  happiest  time.  I  have  more  news,  too!" 

"Don't  spring  so  much  at  wance!"  cried  Jimmy,  "you'H 
spoil  my  appetite." 

"I  guess  there's  no  danger,"  replied  Mary. 

"There  is,"  said  Jimmy.  "At  laste  in  the  fore  sictiojt. 
*Appe'  is  Frinch,  and  manes  atin'.  'Tite'  is  Irish,  ar/d 
manes  drinkin'.  Appetite  manes  atin'  and  drinkin*  to- 
gither.  'Tite'  manes  drinkin'  without  atin',  see?" 

"I  was  just  goin'  to  mintion  it  meself,"  said  Mary,  "it's 
where  you  come  in  strong.  There's  no  danger  of  anybody 
spoilin'  your  drinkin',  if  they  could  interfere  with  your 
atin'.  You  guess,  Dannie." 

"The  dominick  hen  is  setting,"  ventured  Dannie. 
Mary's  face  showed  that  he  had  blundered  on  the  truth. 

"She  is,"  affirmed  Mary,  pouring  the  tea,  "but  it  is  real 
mane  of  you  to  guess  it,  when  I've  so  few  new  things  to  tell. 
She  has  been  setting  two  days,  and  she  went  over  fiftane 
fresh  eggs  to-day.  In  just  twinty-one  days  I  will  have 
fiftane  the  cunningest  little  chickens  you  ever  saw,  and 
there  is  more  yet.  I  found  the  nest  of  the  gray  goose,  with 


KINGFISHER  AND  THE  BLACK  BASS     109 

tforee  big  eggs  in  it,  all  buried  in  feathers.  She  must  have 
stripped  her  breast  almost  bare  to  cover  them.  And  I'm 
the  happiest  I've  been  all  winter.  I  hate  the  long,  lonely, 
shut-in-time.  I  am  going  on  a  delightful  spree.  I  shall 
help  boil  down  sugar-water  and  make  maple  syrup.  I 
shall  set  hins,  and  geese,  and  turkeys.  I  shall  make  soap, 
and  clane  house,  and  plant  seed,  and  all  my  flowers  will 
bloom  again.  Goody  for  summer;  it  can't  come  too  soon 
tt?  suit  me." 

"Lord!  I  don't  see  what  there  is  in  any  of  those 
things,"  said  Jimmy.  "I've  got  just  one  sign  of  spring 
that  interests  me.  If  you  want  to  see  me  caper,  somebody 
mention  to  me  the  first  rattle  of  the  Kingfisher.  Whin  he 
comes  home,  and  house  cleans  in  his  tunnel  in  the  embank- 
ment, and  takes  possession  of  his  stump  in  the  river, 
tile  nixt  day  the  Black  Bass  locates  in  the  deep  water 
bslow  the  shoals.  Thin  you  can  count  me  in.  There  is 
\v'here  business  begins  for  Jimmy  boy.  I  am  going  to  have 
that  Bass  this  summer,  if  I  don't  plant  an  acre  of  corn." 

"I  bet  you  that's  the  truth!"  said  Mary,  so  quickly  that 
both  men  laughed. 

"Ahem!"  said  Dannie.  "Then  I  will  have  to  do  my 
plowing  by  a  heidlicht,  so  I  can  fish  as  much  as  ye  do  in  the 
day  time.  I  hereby  make,  enact,  and  enforce  a  law  that 
neither  of  us  is  to  fish  in  the  Bass  hole  when  the  other  is  not 
there  to  fish  also.  That  is  the  only  fair  way.  I've  as  much 
richt  to  him  as  ye  have." 

"Of  course!"  said  Mary.  "That  is  a  fair  way.  Make 
that  a  rule,  and  kape  it.  If  you  both  fish  at  once,  it's  got 
to  be  a  fair  catch  for  the  one  that  lands  it;  but  whoevef 


no       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 
catches  it,  /  shall  ate  it,  so  it  doesn't  much  matter  to 


me." 


"You  ate  it!"  howled  Jimmy.  "I  guess  not.  Not  a 
taste  of  that  fish,  when  he's  teased  me  for  years?  He's  as 
big  as  a  whale.  If  Jonah  had  had  the  good  fortune  to  fall 
in  the  Wabash,  and  to  be  swallowed  by  the  Black  Bass,  he 
could  have  ridden  from  Peru  to  Terre  Haute,  and  suffered 
no  inconvenience  makin'  a  landin'.  Sivin  pounds  he'll 
weigh  by  the  steelyard,  I'll  wager  you." 

"Five,  Jimmy,  five,"  corrected  Dannie. 

"Sivin!"  shouted  Jimmy.  "Ain't  I  hooked  him  re- 
peated? Ain't  I  seen  him  broadside?  I  wonder  if  thim 
heavy  lines  of  mine  have  gone  and  rotted." 

He  left  his  supper,  carrying  his  chair  to  stand  on  while 
he  rummaged  the  top  shelf  of  the  cupboard  for  his  box  of 
tackle.  He  knocked  a  bottle  from  the  shelf,  but  caught 
it  in  mid-air  with  a  dexterous  sweep. 

"Spirits  are  movin',"  cried  Jimmy,  as  he  restored  the 
camphor  to  its  place.  He  carried  the  box  to  the  window; 
becoming  so  deeply  engrossed  in  its  contents  that  he  did 
not  notice  when  Dannie  picked  up  his  rat  bag  telling  him  to 
come  help  skin  their  day's  catch.  Mary  tried  to  send  him, 
but  he  was  going  in  a  minute.  So  the  minutes  stretched 
and  stretched,  until  both  of  them  were  surprised  when  the 
door  opened  to  admit  Dannie  with  an  armload  of  spiles, 
the  rat-skinning  being  finished. 

Jimmy  unwound  lines,  sharpened  hooks,  and  talked  fish; 
while  Dannie  and  Mary  cleaned  the  spiles,  figured  on  how 
nrany  new  elders  must  be  cut  and  prepared  for  more  on  the 
morrow;  and  planned  the  sugar  making. 


When  it  was  bedtime,  Dannie  went  home.  Jimmy  and 
Mary  closed  their  cabin  for  the  night.  Mary  stepped  to 
the  window  that  looked  toward  Dannie's  to  see  if  his  light 
were  burning.  It  was,  for  clear  in  its  rays  stood  Dannie, 
stripping  yard  after  yard  of  fine  line  through  his  fingers, 
to  carefully  test  it.  Jimmy  came  and  stood  beside 
her. 

"Why,  the  domn  son  of  the  Rainbow,"  he  cried,  "if  he 
ain't  trying  his  fish  lines!" 

The  next  day  Mary  Malone  was  rejoicing  when  the 
men  returned  from  trapping,  to  clean  the  sugar-water 
troughs.  There  had  been  a  robin  at  the  well. 

"Kape  your  eye  on  Mary,"  advised  Jimmy.  "If  she 
ain't  watched  close  from  this  time  on,  she'll  be  settin'  hins 
in  snowdrifts,  or  pouring  biling  water  on  the  daffodils  to 
sprout  them." 

On  the  first  of  March,  five  killdeers  flew  over;  while 
half  an  hour  later  one  straggler  crying  piteously  followed 
in  their  wake. 

"Oh,  the  mane  things!"  Mary  almost  sobbed.  "Why 
don't  they  wait  for  it  ? " 

She  stood  beside  a  big  kettle  of  boiling  syrup  at  the 
sugar  camp,  almost  helpless  in  Jimmy's  boots  and  Dan- 
nie's great  coat.  Jimmy  cut  and  carried  logs,  while  Dan- 
nie hauled  sap.  All  the  woods  were  stirred  by  the  smell  of 
the  curling  smoke  and  the  odour  of  the  boiling  sap,  fine 
as  the  fragrance  of  flowers.  Bright-eyed  deer  mice  peeped 
at  her  from  under  old  logs,  the  chickadees,  nut-hatches, 
and  jays  started  an  investigating  committee  to  learn  if 
anything  interesting  to  them  were  occurring.  One  gayly 


ii2       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

dressed  little  sap-sucker  hammered  a  tree  close  by  and 
scolded  vigorously. 

"Right  you  are!"  said  Mary.  "It's  a  pity  you're  not 
big  enough  to  drive  us  from  the  woods,  for  into  one  kittle 
goes  enough  sap  to  last  you  a  lifetime." 

The  squirrels  resented  the  intrusion,  racing  among  the 
branches  overhead,  barking  loud  defiance.  At  night  the 
three  rode  home  on  the  sled,  with  the  syrup  jugs  beside 
them.  Mary's  apron  was  filled  with  big  green  rolls  of 
pungent  woolly-dog  moss. 

Jimmy  built  the  fires,  Dannie  fed  the  stock,  while  Mary 
cooked  the  supper.  When  it  was  over,  the  men  warmed 
chilled  feet  and  fingers  at  the  fire.  Mary  poured  some 
syrup  into  a  kettle,  and  just  as  it  "sugared  off"  she  dipped 
streams  of  the  amber  sweetness  into  cups  of  water.  All 
of  them  ate  it  like  big  children,  and  oh,  but  it  was  good' 
Two  days  more  of  the  same  work  endecl  sugar  making,  but 
for  several  days  following  Dannie  gathered  the  rapidly 
diminishing  sap  for  the  vinegar  barrel. 

Then  there  were  more  hens  ready  to  set,  water  must  be 
poured  hourly  into  the  ash  hopper  to  start  the  flow  of  lye 
for  soap  making,  while  the  smoke  house  must  be  made 
ready  to  cure  the  hams  and  pickled  meats,  so  that  they 
would  keep  during  warm  weather.  The  bluebells  were 
pushing  through  the  sod  in  a  race  with  the  Easter  and 
star  flowers.  One  morning  Mary  aroused  Jimmy  with  a 
pull  at  his  arm. 

"Jimmy,  Jimmy,"  she  cried.     "Wake  upl'' 

"Do  you  mane  Vake  up*  or  get  up?"  asked  Jimmy 
sleepily. 


KINGFISHER  AND  THE  BLACK  BASS     113 

"'Both,"  cried  Mary.     "The  larks  are  here!" 

A  little  later  Jimmy  shouted  from  the  back  door  to  the 
barn :  "  Dannie,  do  you  hear  the  larks  ? " 

"Ye  bet  I  do,"  answered  Dannie.  "Heard  ane  goin* 
over  in  the  nicht.  How  long  is  it  now  till  the  Kingfisher 
comes  ? " 

"Only  a  short  time,"  said  Jimmy.  "If  only  these 
March  storms  would  let  up  'stid  of  down!  He  can't  come 
until  he  can  fish,  you  know.  He's  got  to  have  crabs  and 
minnies  to  live  on." 

A  few  days  later  the  green  hylas  began  to  pipe  in  the 
swamps,  the  bullfrogs  drummed  among  the  pools  in  the 
bottom,  the  doves  cooed  in  the  thickets,  while  the  breath 
of  spring  was  in  the  nostrils  of  all  creation,  for  the  wind 
was  heavy  with  the  pungent  odour  of  catkin  pollen.  The 
spring  flowers  were  two  inches  high.  The  peonies  and 
rhubarb  were  pushing  bright  yellow  and  red  cones  through 
the  earth.  The  old  gander,  leading  his  flock  beside 
the  Wabash,  had  hailed  passing  flocks  bound  north- 
ward until  he  was  hoarse.  The  Brahma  rooster  had 
threshed  the  yellow  dorking  so  completely  he  took  refuge 
under  the  pig  pen,  not  daring  to  stick  out  his  unprotected 
head. 

The  doors  stood  open  at*supper  time.  Dannie  stayed 
up  late,  mending  and  oiling  the  harness.  Jimmy  sat  close 
cleaning  his  gun,  for  to  his  mortification  he  had  that  day 
missed  killing  a  crow  that  stole  from  the  ash  hopper  the 
egg  with  which  Mary  tested  the  strength  of  the  lye.  In  a 
basket  behind  the  kitchen  stove  fifteen  newly  hatched 
yellow  chkkens,  with  brown  stripes  on  their  backs,  wei*» 


ii4       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

peeping  and  nestling;  while  on  wing  the  killdeers  cried 
half  the  night. 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  came  a  tap  on  the  Ma- 
lones*  bedroom  window. 

"Dannie?"  questioned  Mary,  half  startled. 

"Tell  Jimmy!"  cried  Dannie's  breathless  voice  outside. 
"Tell  him  the  Kingfisher  has  juist  struck  the  river!" 

Jimmy  sat  straight  up  in  bed. 

"Then  glory  be!"  he  cried.  "To-morrow  the  Blacfc 
Bass  comes  home!" 


WHEN  THE  RAINBOW  SET  ITS  ARCH 
IN  THE  SKY 


CHAPTER  V 
WHEN  THE  RAINBOW  SET  ITS  ARCH  IN  THE  SK* 

'HERE  did  Jimmy  go?"  asked  Mary. 

Jimmy  had  been  up  in  time  to  feed  the  chick- 
ens and  carry  in  the  milk,  but  he  disappeared 
shortly  after  breakfast. 

Dannie  almost  blushed  as  he  answered:  "He  went  to 
take  a  peep  at  the  river.  It's  going  down  fast.  When  it 
settles  to  the  regular  channel,  spawning  will  be  over  and 
the  fish  will  come  back  to  their  old  places.  We  figure  that 
the  Black  Bass  will  be  home  to-day." 

"When  you  go  digging  for  bait,"  said  Mary,  "I  wonder 
if  the  two  of  you  could  make  it  convanient  to  spade  an 
onion  bed.  If  I  had  it  spaded  I  could  stick  the  sets  me-» 
silf." 

"Now,  that  amna  fair,  Mary,"  said  Dannie.  "We 
never  went  fishing  till  the  garden  was  made,  and  the  crops 
at  least  wouldna  suffer.  We'll  make  the  beds,  of  course, 
juist  as  soon  as  they  can  be  spaded,  and  plant  th«  seed, 
too." 

"I  want  to  plant  the  seeds  mesilf,"  said  Mary. 

"And  we  dinna  want  ye  should,"  replied  Dannie.  "All 
we  want  ye  to  do  is  to  boss." 

"But  I'm  going  to  do  the  planting  mesilf."  Mary  was 
emphatic.  "It  will  be  good  for  me  to  be  in  the  sunshine. 

"7 


ii8        AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

I  so  enjoy  working  in  the  dirt,  that  for  a  little  while  I'm 
happy." 

"If  ye  want  to  put  the  onions  in  the  highest  place,  I 
should  think  I  could  spade  ane  bed  now,  and  enough  fra 
lettuce  and  radishes." 

Dannie  went  after  a  spade.  Mary  Malone  laughed 
softly  wnen  she  saw  that  he  also  carried  an  old  tin  can* 
He  tested  the  earth  in  several  places,  and  then  called  to 
her: 

"All  right,  Mary!  Ground  in  prime  shape.  Turns  up 
dry  and  mellow.  We  will  have  the  garden  started  in  no 
time." 

He  had  spaded  only  a  minute  when  Mary  saw  him  ru& 
past  the  window,  leap  the  fence,  and  go  hurrying  down  the 
path  to  the  river.  She  went  to  the  door.  At  the  head 
of  the  lane  stood  Jimmy,  waving  his  hat,  and  the  fresh 
morning  air  carried  his  cry  clearly:  "Gee,  Dannie!  Come 
hear  him  splash!" 

Just  why  that  cry,  coming  with  the  sight  of  Dannie 
Macnoun  racing  toward  the  river,  his  spade  lying  on  the 
upturned  earth  of  her  scarcely  begun  onion  bed,  should 
have  made  her  angry,  it  would  be  difficult  to  explain.  He 
had  no  tackle  or  bait;  reason  easily  could  have  told  her 
that  he  would  return  shortly,  and  finish  anything  she 
wanted  done;  but  when  was  a  lonely,  disappointed  woman 
ever  reasonable? 

She  set  the  dish  water  on  the  stove,  wiped  her  hands  on 
her  apron,  and  walking  to  the  garden  picked  up  the  spade 
and  began  turning  big  pieces  of  earth.  She  had  never 
done  rough  farm  work,  such  as  women  all  around  her  did; 


WHEN  THE  RAINBOW  SET  ITS  ARCH    119 

she  had  little  exercise  during  the  long,  cold  winter,  so  the 
first  half-dozen  spadefuls  tired  her  until  the  tears  of  self- 
pity  rolled. 

"I  wish  there  was  a  turtle  as  big  as  a  wash  tub  in  the 
river,"  she  cried,  "and  I  wish  it  would  eat  that  old  Blaclr 
Bass  to  the  last  scale.  I'm  going  to  take  the  shotgun^ 
and  go  over  to  the  embankment,  and  poke  it  into  the 
tunnel,  and  blow  the  old  Kingfisher  through  into  the 
cornfield.  Then  maybe  Dannie  won't  go  off  too  and 
leave  me.  I  want  this  onion  bed  spaded  right  away,  so 
I  do." 

"  Drop  that !     Idjit !     What  you  doing ? "  yelled  Jimmy. 

"Mary,  ye  goose!"  panted  Dannie,  as  he  came  hurrying 
across  the  yard.  "Wha'  do  ye  mean?  Ye  knew  I'd  be 
back  in  a  minute!  Jimmy  juist  called  me  to  hear  the 
Bass  splash.  I  was  comin'  straight  back." 

Dannie  took  the  spade  from  her  hand,  and  Mary  fled 
sobbing  to  the  house. 

"What's  the  row?"  demanded  Jimmy  of  the  suffering 
Dannie. 

"I'd  juist  started  spadin'  this  onion  bed,"  explained 
Dannie.  "Of  course,  she  thought  we  were  going  to  stay 
all  day." 

"With  no  poles,  no  bait,  no  grub  ?  She  didn't  think  any 
such  a  domn  thing,"  said  Jimmy.  "You  don't  know 
women!  She  just  got  to  the  place  where  it's  her  time  to 
spill  brine,  and  raise  a  rumpus  about  something,  and  aisy 
brathin'  would  start  her.  Just  let  her  bawl  it  out,  and 
thin — we'll  get  something  extra  for  dinner." 

Dannie  turned  a  spadeful  of  earth  and  broke  it  open. 


120       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

Jimmy  squatted  beside  the  can,  to  pick  up  the  angle 
worms. 

"I  see  where  we  dinna  fish  much  this  summer,"  said 
Dannie,  as  he  waited.  "And  where  we  fish  close  home 
when  we  do,  and  where  all  the  work  is  done  before  we  go." 

"Aha,  borrow  me  rose-coloured  specks!"  cried  Jimmy. 
"I  don't  see  anything  but  what  I've  always  seen.  I'll 
come  and  go  as  I  please,  and  Mary  can  do  the  same.  I 
don't  throw  no  'jemmy  fit'  every  time  a  woman  acts  the 
fool  a  little,  and  if  you'd  lived  with  one  fiftane  years  you 
wouldn't  either.  Of  course  we'll  make  the  garden.  Wish 
to  goodness  it  was  a  beer  garden!  Wouldn't  I  like  to 
plant  a  lot  of  hop  seed  and  see  rows  of  little  green  beer 
bottles  humpin*  up  the  dirt.  Oh,  my!  What  all  does  she 
want  done?" 

Dannie  turned  another  spadeful  of  earth  then  studied 
the  premises,  while  Jimmy  gathered  the  worms. 

"Palins  all  on  the  fence?"  asked  Dannie. 

"Yep,"  said  Jimmy. 

"Well,  the  yard  is  to  be  raked." 

"Yep." 

"The  flooer  beds  sp^ied." 

"Yep." 

"Stones  around  the  peonies,  phlox,  and  hollyhocks 
raised  and  manure  worked  in.  All  the  trees  must  be 
pruned,  the  bushes  and  vines  trimmed,  and  the  goose- 
berries, currants,  and  raspberries  thinned.  The  straw- 
berry bed  must  be  fixed  up,  and  the  rhubarb  and  asparagus 
spaded  around  and  manured.  This  whole  garden  must 
be  made " 


WHEN  THE  RAINBOW  SET  ITS  ARCH    121 

"And  the  road  swept,  and  the  gate  sandpapered,  and  the 
barn  whitewashed !  Return  to  grazing,  Nebuchadnezzar,'*' 
said  Jimmy.  "We  do  what's  raisonable,  and  then  we  go 
fishin'.  See?" 

Three  beds  spaded,  squared,  and  ready  for  seeding  lay 
in  the  warm  spring  sunshine  before  noon.  Jimmy  raked 
the  yard,  while  Dannie  trimmed  the  gooseberries.  Then 
he  wheeled  a  barrel  of  swamp  loam  for  a  flower  bed  by  the 
cabin  wall,  listening  intently  between  each  shovelful  he 
threw.  He  could  not  hear  a  sound.  What  was  more,  he 
could  not  endure  it.  He  went  to  Jimmy. 

"Say,  Jimmy,"  he  said.  "  Dinna  ye  have  to  gae  in  fra  a 
drink?" 

"House  or  town?"  inquired  Jimmy  sweetly. 

"*The  house ! "  exploded  Dannie.  " I  dinna  hear  a  sound 
yet.  Ye  gae  in  fra  a  drink,  and  tell  Mary  I  want  to  know 
where  she'd  like  the  new  flooer  bed  she's  been  talking 
ibout." 

Jimmy  leaned  the  rake  against  a  tree,  and  started. 

"And  Jimmy,"  said  Dannie.  "If  she's  quit  crying,  ask 
her  what  was  the  matter.  I  want  to  know." 

Jimmy  vanished.  Presently  he  passed  Dannie  where  he 
worked. 

"Come  on,"  whispered  Jimmy. 

The  bewildered  Dannie  followed.  Jimmy  slunk  behind 
the  barn,  where  he  leaned  against  the  logs  holding  his  sides. 
Dannie  stared  at  him. 

"She  says,"  wheezed  Jimmy,  "that  she  guesses  shf 
wanted  to  hear  the  Bass  splash,  too!" 

Dannie's  mouth  fell  open,  then  closed  with  a  snap. 


122        AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW, 
i 

"Us  fra  the  fool  killer!"  he  said.  "Ye  dinna  let  her  see 
ye  laugh  ? " 

"  Let  her  see  me  laugh ! "  cried  Jimmy.  "  Let  her  see  me 
laugh!  I  told  her  she  wasn't  to  go  for  a  few  days  yet,  be- 
cause we  were  sawin'  the  Kingfisher's  stump  up  into  a 
rustic  sate  for  her,  and  we  were  goin'  to  carry  her  out  to  it, 
and  she  was  to  sit  there  and  sew,  and  umpire  the  fishin', 
and  whichiver  bait  she  told  the  Bass  to  take,  that  one  of  us 
would  be  gettin'  it.  She  was  pleased  as  anything,  me  lad, 
and  now  it's  up  to  us  to  rig  up  some  sort  of  a  dacint  sate, 
and  tag  a  woman  along  half  the  time.  You  thick-tongued 
descindint  of  a  bagpipe  baboon,  what  did  you  sind  me  io 
there  for?" 

"Maybe  a  little  of  it  will  tire  her,"  groaned  Dannie. 

"It  v*ill  if  she  undertakes  to  follow  me,"  Jimmy  said. 
"I  know  where  horse-weeds  grow  giraffe  high." 

Then  they  went  back  to  work.  Presently  many  savoury 
odours  began  to  steal  from  the  cabin.  Whereat  Jimmy 
looked  at  Dannie,  to  wink  an  "  I-told-you-so "  wink. 

A  garden  grows  fast  under  the  hands  of  two  strong  men 
really  working,  so  by  the  time  the  first  slice  of  sugar-cured 
ham  for  that  season  struck  the  sizzling  skillet,  the  garden 
was  almost  ready  for  planting.  Mary  very  meekly  called 
from  the  back  door  to  know  if  one  of  them  wanted  to  dig  a 
little  horseradish. 

When  they  were  called  to  supper  they  found  fragrant, 
thick  slices  of  juicy  fried  ham,  seasoned  with  horseradish; 
fried  eggs,  freckled  with  the  ham  fat  in  which  they  were 
cooked;  fluffy  mashed  potatoes,  with  a  small  well  of 
melted  butter  in  the  centre  of  the  mound  overflowing 


WHEN  THE  RAINBOW  SET  ITS  ARCH    123 

the  sides;  raisin  pie,  soda  biscuit,  and  their  own  mapfe 

.syrup. 

"  Ohumahoh ! "  said  Jimmy.  "  I  don't  know  as  I  hanker 
for  city  life  so  much  as  I  sometimes  think  I  do.  What  do 
you  suppose  the  adulterated  stuff  we  read  about  in  papers 
tastes  like?" 

"I've  often  wondered/'  answered  Dannie.  "Look  at 
some  of  the  hogs  and  cattle  that  we  see  shipped  from  here 
to  city  markets.  The  folks  that  sell  them  would  starve  be- 
fore they'd  eat  a  bite  o'  them,  yet  somebody  eats  them. 
And  what  do  ye  suppose  maple  syrup  made  from  hickory 
bark  and  brown  sugar  tastes  like?'* 

"And  cold-storage  eggs,  cotton-seed  butter,  and  even 
horseradish  half  turnip,"  added  Mary.  "Bate  up  the 
cream  a  little  before  you  put  it  in  your  coffee,  or  it  will  be 
in  lumps.  Whin  the  cattle  are  on  clover  it  raises  so  thick.'^ 

Jimmy  speared  a  piece  of  salt-rising  bread  crust  soaked 
in  ham  gravy  made  with  cream,  and  said :  "  I  wish  I  could 
bring  that  Thrid  Man  home  with  me  to  one  meal  of  the 
real  thing  nixt  time  he  strikes  town.  I  belave  he  woulcS 
injoy  it.  May  I,  Mary?" 

Mary's  face  flushed  slightly. 

" Depends  on  whin  he  comes,"  she  said.  "Of  course,  if 
I  am  cleaning  house,  or  busy  with  something  I  can't  put 
off— 

"Sure!"  cried  Jimmy.  "I'd  ask  you  before  I  brought 
him,  because  I'd  want  him  to  have  something  spicial. 
Some  of  this  ham,  and  horseradish,  and  maple  syrup  to  be- 
gin with,  and  thin  your  fried  spring  chicken  and  your 
squirrel  is  a  drame,  Mary.  Nobody  iver  makes 


124       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

turtle  soup  half  so  rich  as  yours,  and  your  gieen  peas  in 
cream  and  asparagus  on  toast  is  a  rivilation — don't  you 
remimber  'twas  Father  Michael  that  said  it  ?  I  ought  to  be 
able  to  find  mushrooms  in  a  few  weeks,  and  I  can  taste  your 
rhubarb  pie  over  from  last  year.  Gee!  But  I  wish  he'd 
come  in  strawberrying!  Berries  from  the  vines,  butter  in 
the  crust,  crame  you  have  to  bate  to  make  it  smooth — talk 
about  shortcake!" 

"What's  wrong  wi*  cherry  cobbler?"  asked  Dannie. 

"Or  blackberry  pie?" 

"Or  greens  cooked  wi'  bacon?" 

"Or  chicken  pie?" 

"Or  catfish  rolled  in  cornmeal  and  fried  in  ham  fat?" 

"Or  guineas  stewed  in  cream,  with  hard-boiled  eggs  in 
the  gravy?" 

"Oh,  stop!"  cried  the  delighted  Mary.  "It  makes  me 
dead  tired  thinkin'  how  I'll  iver  be  cookin'  all  you'll  want. 
Sure,  have  him  come,  and  both  of  you  can  choose  the 
things  you  like  best,  and  I'll  fix  thim  for  him.  Pure,  fresh 
stuff  might  be  a  trate  to  a  city  man.  When  Dolan  took 
sister  Katie  to  New  York  with  him,  his  boss  sent  them  to  a 
five-dollar-a-day  house,  so  they  thought  they  was  some  up. 
By  the  third  day  poor  Katie  was  cryin'  for  a  square  male. 
She  couldn't  touch  the  butter,  the  eggs  made  her  sick,  and 
the  cold-storage  meat  and  chicken  never  got  nearer  her 
stomach  than  her  nose.  So  she  just  ate  fish,  because  they 
were  fresh,  and  she  ate,  and  she  ate,  till  if  you  mintion 
New  York  to  poor  Katie  she  turns  pale  and  tastes  fish. 
She  vows  and  declares  that  she  feeds  her  chickens  and  pigs 
better  food  twice  a  day  than  people  fed  her  in  New  York." 


WHEN  THE  RAINBOW  SET  ITS  ARCH    125 

"I'll  bet  my  new  milk  pail  the  grub  we  eat  ivry  day 
would  be  a  trate  that  would  raise  him,"  said  Jimmy. 
"Provided  his  taste  ain't  so  depraved  with  saltpeter  and 
chalk  he  doesn't  kncrw  fresh,  pure  food  whin  he  tastes  it. 
I  understand  some  of  the  victims  really  don't." 

"Your  new  milk  pail?"  questioned  M'iiy. 

"That's  what!"  said  Jimmy.  "The  nixt  time  I  go  to 
town  I'm  goin'  to  get  you  two." 

"But  I  only  need  one,"  protested  Mary.  "Instead  of 
two,  bring  me  a  new  dishpan.  Mine  leaks,  and  smears  the 
stove  and  table." 

"Begorra!"  sighed  Jimmy.  "There  goes  me  tongue 
lettin'  me  in  for  it  again.  I'll  look  over  the  skins,  and  if 
any  of  thim  are  ripe,  I'll  bring  you  a  milk  pail  and  a  dish- 
pan  the  nixt  time  I  go  to  town.  And,  by  gee!  If  that 
dandy  big  coon  hide  I  got  last  fall  looks  good,  I'm  going  to 
comb  it  up,  and  work  the  skin  fine,  and  send  it  to  the 
Thrid  Man,  with  me  complimints.  I  don't  feel  right 
about  him  yet.  Wonder  what  his  name  railly  is,  and  where 
he  lives,  or  whether  I  killed  him  complate." 

"Any  drygoods  man  in  town  can  tell  ye,"  said  Dannie. 

"Ask  the  clerk  in  the  hotel,"  suggested  Mary. 

"You've  said  it,"  cried  Jimmy.  "That's  the  stuff! 
And  I  can  find  out  whin  he  will  be  here  again." 

Two  hours  more  they  faithfully  worked  on  the  garden, 
then  Jimmy  began  to  grow  restless. 

"Ah,  go  on!"  cried  Mary.  "You  have  done  all  that  is 
needed  just  now,  and  more  too.  There  won't  any  fish  bite 
to-day,  but  you  can  have  the  pleasure  of  stringin'  thim  poor 
sufFerin'  worms  on  a  hook  and  soaking  thim  in  the  river." 


226     AT    THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

"Sufferin*  worms!'  SufFerin*  Job!"  cried  Jimmy. 
"  What  nixt  ?  Go  on,  Dannie,  fetch  your  pole ! " 

Dannie  went.  As  he  came  back  Jimmy  was  sprinkling 
a  thin  layer  of  earth  over  the  bait  in  the  can.  "Why  not 
come  along,  Mary?"  he  suggested. 

"I'm  not  done  planting  my  seeds/'  she  answered.  "I'll 
be  tired  when  I  am,  and  I  thought  that  sate  wasn't  fixed 
for  me  yet." 

"We  can't  make  that  till  a  little  later,"  said  Jimmy. 
'•'We  can't  tell  where  it's  going  to  be  grassy  and  shady  yet, 
and  the  wood  is  too  wet." 

"Any  kind  of  a  sate  will  do,"  said  Mary.  "I  guess  you 
better  not  try  to  make  one  out  of  the  Kingfisher  stump. 
If  you  take  it  out  it  may  change  the  pool  and  drive  away 
the  Bass." 

"Sure!"  cried  Jimmy.  "What  a  head  you've  got! 
We'll  have  to  find  some  other  stump  for  you." 

"I  don't  want  to  go  until  it  gets  dry  underfoot,  and 
warmer,"  said  Mary.  "You  boys  go  on.  I'll  till  you 
whin  I  am  riddy  to  go." 

"There!"  said  Jimmy,  when  well  on  the  way  to  the 
river.  "What  did  I  tell  you?  Won't  go  if  she  has  the 
chance!  Jist  wants  to  be  asked" 

"I  dinna  pretend  to  know  women,"  said  Dannie  gravely. 
"But  whatever  Mary  does  is  all  richt  with  me." 

"So  I've  obsarved,"  remarked  Jimmy.  "Now,  how 
will  we  get  at  this  fishin'  to  be  parfectly  fair?" 

"Tell  ye  what  I  think,"  said  Dannie.  "I  think  we 
ought  to  pick  out  the  twa  best  places  about  the  Black 
Bass  pool,  and  ye  take  ane  fra  yours  and  I'll  take  the 


WHEN  THE  RAINBOW  SET  ITS  ARCH    127 

ither  fra  mine,  and  then  we'll  each  fish  from  his  own 
place." 

"Nothing  fair  about  that,"  answered  Jimmy.  "You 
might  just  happen  to  strike  the  bed  where  he  lays  most, 
and  be  gettin'  bites  all  the  time,  and  me  none;  or  I  might 
strike  it  and  you  be  left  out.  And  thin  there's  days  whin 
the  wind  has  to  do,  and  the  light.  We  ought  to  change 
places  ivry  hour." 

"There's  nothing  fair  in  that  either,"  broke  in  Dannie. 
"I  might  have  him  '«j«  ad  up  to  my  place,  and  juist  be 
feedin'  him  my  bait,  and  here  you'd  come  along  proving 
by  your  watch  that  my  time  was  up,  and  take  him  when  I 
had  him  all  ready  to  bite." 

"That's  so  for  you!"  hurried  in  Jimmy.  "I'll  be  hanged 
if  I'd  leave  a  place  by  the  watch  whin  I  had  a  strike!" 

"Me  either,"  said  Dannie.  "Tis  past  human  nature  to 
ask  it.  I'll  tell  ye  what  we'll  do.  We'll  go  to  work  and  rig 
up  a  sort  of  a  bridge  where  it's  so  narrow  and  shallow,  juist 
above  Kingfisher  shoals,  and  then  we'll  toss  up  fra  sides. 
Then  each  will  keep  to  his  side.  With  a  decent  pole  either 
of  us  can  throw  across  the  pool,  and  both  of  us  can  fish  as 
we  please.  Then  each  fellow  can  pick  his  bait,  and  cast  or 
fish  deep  as  he  thinks  best.  What  d'ye  say  to  that?" 

"I  don't  see  how  anything  could  be  fairer  than  that," 
said  Jimmy.  "I  don't  want  to  fish  for  anything  but  the 
Bass.  I'm  goin'  back  and  get  our  rubber  boots;  you  be 
rollin'  logs,  and  we'll  build  that  crossing  right  now." 

"All  richt,"  said  Dannie. 

So  they  laid  aside  their  poles  and  tackle.  Dannie  rolled 
logs  and  gathered  material  for  the  bridge,  while  Jimmy 


128        AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

went  back  after  their  boots.  f-  Then  both  of  them  entered 
the  water  to  clear  away  drift  and  lay  the  foundations.  As 
the  first  log  of  the  crossing  lifted  above  the  water  Dannie 
paused. 

"How  about  the  Kingfisher?"  he  asked.  "Winna  this 
scare  him  away?" 

"Not  if  he  ain't  a  domn  fool,"  said  Jimmy;  "and  if  he 
is,  let  him  go!" 

"Seems  like  the  river  would  no  be  juist  richt  without 
him,"  said  Dannie,  breaking  off  a  spice  limb  to  nibble  the 
fragrant  buds.  "Let's  only  use  what  we  bare  need  to  get 
across.  And  where  will  we  fix  fra  Mary?" 

"Oh,  git  out!"  said  Jimmy.  "I  ain't  goin'  to  fool  with 
that." 

"Well,  we  best  make  a  place.  Then  we  can  tell  her 
it's  all  ready." 

"Sure!"  cried  Jimmy.  "You  are  catchin*  it  from  the 
neighbours.  Till  her  a  place  is  all  fixed  and  waJtin',  and 
you  couldn't  drag  her  here  with  a  team  of  oxen.  Till  her 
you  are  going  to  fix  it  soon,  and  she'll  come  to  see  if  you've 
done  it,  if  she  has  to  be  carried  on  a  stritcher." 

So  they  selected  a  spot  they  thought  would  be  right  for 
Mary;  not  close  enough  to  disturb  the  Bass  and  the  King- 
fisher, rolled  two  logs,  and  fished  a  board  that  had  been 
carried  by  a  freshet  from  the  water  to  lay  across  them. 

Then  they  sat  astride  the  board,  while  Dannie  drew  out 
a  coin,  which  they  tossed.  Dannie  won  heads.  Then 
they  tossed  to  see  which  bank  was  heads  or  tails-  The 
right,  which  was  on  Rainbow  side,  came  heads.  So  Jinwny 
was  to  use  the  bridge. 


WHEN  THE  RAINBOW  SET  ITS  ARCH    129 

Then  they  went  home  to  do  the  night  work.  The  first 
thing  Jimmy  espied  was  the  barrel  containing  the  milk 
pail.  He  took  the  pail,  and  while  Dannie  fed  the  stock, 
shovelled  manure,  and  milked,  Jimmy  pounded  out  the 
dents,  closed  the  bullet  holes,  emptied  the  bait  into  it,  half 
filled  it  with  mellow  earth,  then  went  to  Mary  for  some 
cornmeal  to  sprinkle  on  top  to  feed  the  worms. 

At  four  o'clock  the  following  morning,  Dannie  was  up 
feeding,  milking,  scraping  plows,  and  setting  bolts..  After 
breakfast  they  piled  their  implements  on  a  mudboat, 
which  Dannie  drove,  while  Jimmy  rode  one  of  his  horses, 
and  led  the  other,  so  that  he  could  open  the  gates.  They 
began  on  Dannie's  field,  because  it  was  closest,  and  for  two 
weeks,  unless  it  were  too  rainy  to  work,  they  plowed,  har- 
rowed, lined  off,  and  planted  the  seed. 

The  blackbirds  followed  along  the  furrows  picking  up 
grubs,  the  crows  cawed  from  high  tree  tops,  the  bluebirds 
twittered  around  hollow  stumps  and  fence  rails,  the  wood 
thrushes  sang  out  their  souls  in  the  thickets  across  the 
river,  while  the  King  Cardinal  of  Rainbow  Bottom  whistled 
to  split  his  throat  from  the  giant  sycamore.  Tender 
greens  were  showing  beside  the  river  and  in  the  fields. 
The  purple  of  red-bud  mingled  with  the  white  of  wild  plum 
all  along  the  Wabash. 

The  sunny  side  of  the  hill  that  sloped  to  Rainbow  Bot- 
tom was  a  mass  of  spring  Beauties,  anemones,  and  violets; 
thread-like  ramps  arose  rank  to  the  scent  among  them, 
and  round  ginger  leaves  were  thrusting  their  folded  heads 
through  the  mold.  The  Kingfisher  was  cleaning  his  house 
and  fishing  from  his  favourite  stump  in  the  river,  while 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

near  him,  at  the  fall  of  every  luckless  worm  that  missed 
its  hold  on  a  blossom-whitened  thorn  tree,  came  the  splash 
of  the  Black  Bass. 

Every  morning  the  Bass  took  a  trip  around  Horseshoe 
Bend  food  hunting,  and  the  small  fry  raced  for  life  before 
his  big,  trap-like  jaws.  During  the  heat  of  noon  he  lay  in 
the  deep  pool  below  the  stump,  and  rested;  but  when  eve- 
ning came  he  set  out  in  search  of  supper.  Frequently  he 
felt  so  good  that  he  leaped  clear  of  the  water,  then  fell 
back  with  a  splash  that  threw  shining  spray  around  him, 
or  lashed  out  with  his  tail  sending  widening  circles  of  waves 
rolling  from  his  lurking  place.  Then  the  Kingfisher  rat- 
tled with  all  his  might,  as  he  flew  for  the  tunnel  in  the 
embankment. 

Some  of  these  days  the  air  was  still,  the  earth  warmed 
in  the  golden  sunshine,  murmuring  a  low  song  of  sleepy 
content.  Some  days  the  wind  raised,  whirling  dead  leaves 
before  it,  covering  the  earth  with  drifts  of  plum,  cherry, 
and  apple  bloom,  like  late  falling  snow.  Theo  great 
black  clouds  came  sweeping  across  the  sky,  massing 
above  Rainbow  Bottom.  The  lightning  flashed  as  if  the 
heavens  were  being  cracked  open,  while  the  rolling  thunder 
sent  terror  to  the  hearts  of  man  and  beast.  When  the 
birds  flew  for  shelter,  Dannie  and  Jimmy  unhitched  their 
horses,  racing  for  the  stables  to  escape  the  storm,  also  to 
be  with  Mary,  whom  electricity  made  nervous. 

They  would  sit  on  the  small  front  porch  to  watch  the 
greedy  earth  drink  the  downpour.  They  could  almost 
see  the  grass  and  flowers  grow.  When  the  clouds  scat- 
tered, the  thunder  grew  fainter,  while  the  sun  shone  agaii 


WHEN  THE  RAINBOW  SET  ITS  ARCH    131 

between  light  sprinkles  of  rain.  Then  a  great,  glittering 
rainbow  set  its  arch  in  the  sky.  It  planted  one  of  its 
feet  in  Horseshoe  Bend,  and  the  other  so  far  away  they' 
could  not  even  guess  where. 

If  it  rained  lightly,  in  a  short  time  Dannie  and  Jimmy 
could  go  back  to  their  work  afield.  If  the  downpour  was 
heavy,  making  plowing  impossible,  they  pulled  weeds,  or 
hoed  in  the  garden.  Dannie  discoursed  on  the  wholesome 
freshness  of  the  earth,  while  Jimmy  ever  waited  a  chance 
to  twist  his  words1,  so  that  he  might  raise  a  laugh  on  him. 
He  usually  found  it.  Sometimes,  after  a  rain,  they  took 
their  bait  cans,  and  rods,  and  went  down  to  the  river  to  fish. 

If  one  could  not  go,  the  other  refrained  from  casting 
bait  into  the  pool  where  the  Black  Bass  lay.  Once,  when 
they  were  fishing  together,  the  Bass  arose  to  a  white  moth, 
skittered  over  the  surface  by  Dannie  late  in  the  evening. 
Twice  Jimmy  had  strikes  which  he  averred  had  taken  the 
arm  almost  off  him,  but  neither  really  had  the  Bass  on  his 
hook.  They  remained  on  their  own  land,  fishing  when 
they  pleased,  for  game  laws  and  wardens  were  unknown  to 
them. 

Neither  of  them  really  hoped  to  hook  the  Bass  before 
fall.  The  water  was  too  high  in  the  spring.  Minnows 
were  plentiful,  while  as  Jimmy  said,  "It  seemed  as  if  the 
domn  plum  tree  just  rained  caterpillars."  So  they  waited. 
The  signs  prohibiting  trespass  on  all  sides  of  their  land 
were  many  and  emphatic.  Mary  even  had  instructions 
to  ring  the  dinner  bell  if  she  caught  sight  of  any  strangers. 

The  days  grew  longer,  the  sun  became  insistent.  Un- 
told miles  they  trudged  back  and  forth  across  their  land, 


132       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

guiding  their  horses,  jerked  with  plows,  their  feet  weighted 
with  the  damp,  clinging  earth,  and  their  clothing  pasted 
to  their  wet  bodies.  Jimmy  was  growing  restless.  Never 
had  he  worked  so  faithfully  as  that  spring,  yet  never  had 
his  visits  to  Casey's  so  tried  him.  No  matter  where  they 
started,  or  how  hard  they  worked,  Dannie  crossed  the 
middle  of  the  field,  to  help  Jimmy  before  the  finish.  It 
was  always  Dannie  who  plowed,  while  Jimmy  rode  to 
town  for  the  missing  bolt  or  buckle,  then  he  usually  rolled 
from  his  horse  into  a  fence  corner,  to  sleep  the  remainder 
of  the  day. 

The  work  and  heat  were  beginning  to  tire  him,  while  his 
trips  to  Casey's  were  much  less  frequent  than  he  desired. 
He  grew  to  feel  that  between  them  Dannie  and  Mary 
were  driving  him,  hence  a  desire  to  balk  at  slight  cause 
gathered  in  his  breast.  He  deliberately  tied  his  team  in 
a  fence  corner,  lay  down,  and  fell  asleep.  The  clanging 
of  the  supper  bell  aroused  him.  He  opened  his  eyes,  and 
as  he  arose,  found  that  Dannie  had  been  to  the  barn,  to 
bring  a  horse  blanket  to  cover  him. 

Well  as  he  knew  anything,  Jimmy  knew  that  he  had  no 
business  sleeping  in  fence  corners  so  early  in  the  season. 
With  candour  he  would  have  admitted  to  himself  that  a 
part  of  his  uncertain  temper  came  from  aching  bones  and 
rheumatic  twinges.  Some  way,  the  sight  of  Dannie  swing- 
ing across  the  field,  looking  as  fresh  as  in  the  early  morn-, 
ing;  the  fact  that  he  had  carried  a  blanket  to  cover  him, 
and  the  further  fact  that  he  was  wild  for  drink,  when  he 
had  no  excuse  for  going  to  town,  brought  him  to  a  fighting 
crisis. 


WHEN  THE  RAINBOW  SET  ITS  ARCH    133 

Dannie  turned  his  horses  at  Jimmy's  feet. 

"Come  on,  Jimmy,  supper  bell  has  rung,"  he  cried. 
"We  mustn't  keep  Mary  waiting.  She  wants  us  to  help 
her  plant  the  sweet  potatoes  to-nicht." 

As  Jimmy  arose,  his  joints  almost  creaked.  The  pain 
angered  him.  He  leaned  forward  glaring  at  Dannie. 

"Is  there  one  minute  of  the  day  whin  you  ain't  thinkin* 
about  my  wife?"  he  demanded,  oh,  so  slowly,  and  so  hate- 
fully! 

Dannie  met  his  gaze  squarely.  "Na  a  minute,"  he 
answered,  "excepting  when  I  am  thinking  about  ye." 

"The  Hell  you  say!"  exploded  the  astonished  Jimmy. 

Dannie  stepped  from  the  furrow,  and  came  closer. 
"See  here,  Jimmy  Malone,"  he  said.  "Ye  ain't  forgot 
tKe  nicht  when  I  told  ye  I  loved  Mary,  with  all  my  heart, 
and  that  I'd  never  love  another  woman.  I  sent  ye  to  tell 
her  fra  me,  and  to  ask  if  I  might  come  to  her.  And  ye 
brought  me  her  answer.  It's  na  your  fault  that  she  pre- 
ferred ye.  Everybody  did.  But  it  is  your  fault  that  I've 
stayed  on  here.  I  tried  to  go,  and  ye  wouldna  let  me. 
So  for  fifteen  years,  ye  have  lain  with  the  woman  I  love, 
and  I  have  lain  alone  in  a  few  rods  of  ye.  If  that  ain't 
Man-Hell,  try  some  other  on  me,  and  see  if  it  will  touch 
me !  I  sent  ye  to  tell  her  that  I  loved  her;  have  I  ever  sent 
ye  to  tell  her  that  I've  quit?  I  should  think  you'd  know, 
by  this  time,  that  I'm  na  quitter.  Love  her!  Why,  I 
love  her  till  I  can  see  her  standin'  plain  before  me  when  I 
know  she's  a  mile  away.  Love  her!  Why,  I  can  smell  her 
any  place  I  am,  sweeter  than  any  flower  I  ever  held  to  my 
face.  Love  her!  Till  the  d«y  I  dee  I'll  love  her.  But  it 


*34       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

ain't  any  fault  of  yours,  and  if  yeVe  come  to  the  place 
where  I  worry  ye,  that's  the  time  for  me  to  go,  as  I  wanted 
to  on  the  same  day  ye  brought  Mary  to  Rainbow  Bottom." 

Jimmy's  gray  jaws  fell  open.  Jimmy's  sullen  eyes 
cleared.  He  caught  Dannie  by  the  arm. 

"For  the  love  of  Hivin,  wha'_  did  I  say,  Dannie?*'  he 
panted.  "I  must  have  been  half  asleep.  Go!  You  go! 
You  leave  Rainbow  Bottom!  Thin,  before  God,  I  go  too! 
I  won't  stay  here  without  you,  not  a  day.  If  I  had  to 
take  my  choice  between  you,  I'd  give  up  Mary  before 
I've  give  up  the  best  frind  I  iver  had.  Go!  I  guess  not, 
unless  I  go  with  you !  She  can  go  to ' 

"Jimmy!     Jimmy!"  cautioned  Dannie. 

"I  mane  ivry  word  of  it,"  said  Jimmy.  "I  think  more 
of  you  than  I  iver  did  of  any  woman." 

Dannie  drew  a  deep  breath.  "Then  why  in  the  name 
of  God  did  ye  say  that  thing  to  me?  I  have  na  betrayed 
your  trust  in  me,  not  ever,  Jimmy,  and  ye  know  it.  What's 
the  matter  with  ye?" 

Jimmy  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  rubbing  his  hands  across  his 
hot,  angry  face. 

"Oh,  I'm  just  so  sore!"  he  said.  "Some  days  I  get 
about  wild.  Things  haven't  come  out  like  I  thought  they 
would." 

"Jimmy,  if  ye  are  in  trouble,  why  do  ye  na  tell  me? 
Canna  I  help  ye?  Haven't  I  always  helped  ye  if  I 
could?" 

"Yes,  you  have,"  said  Jimmy.  "Always,  been  a  thou- 
sand times  too  good  to  me.  But  you  can't  help  here. 
I'm  up  agin  it  alone,  but  put  this  in  your  pipe,  and  smoke 


WHEN  THE  RAINBOW  SET  ITS  ARCH    135 

it  good  and  brown,  if  you  go,  I  go.  I  don't  stay  here  with- 
out you." 

"Then  it's  up  to  ye  na  to  make  it  impossible  for  me  to 
stay,"  said  Dannie.  "After  this,  I'll  try  to  be  carefu*. 
I've  had  no  guard  on  my  lips.  I've  said  whatever  came 
into  my  heid." 

The  supper  bell  clanged  sharply  a  second  time. 

"That  manes  more  Hivin  on  the  Wabash,"  said  Jimmy. 
"Wish  I  had  a  bracer  before  I  face  it." 

"How  long  has  it  been,  Jimmy?"  asked  Dannie. 

"Etarnity!"  replied  Jimmy  briefly. 

Dannie  stood  thinking,  then  understanding  came. 
Jimmy  was  always  short  of  money  in  summer.  When 
trapping  was  over,  and  before  any  crops  were  ready,  he 
was  usually  out  of  funds.  Dannie  hesitated;  then  he  said: 
"Would  a  small  loan  be  what  ye  need,  Jimmy?" 

Jimmy's  eyes  gleamed.  "It  would  put  new  life  into 
me/' he  cried.  "Forgive  me,  Dannie.  I  am  almost  crazy." 

Dannie  handed  over  a  coin.  After  supper  Jimmy  went 
to  town.  Then  Dannie  saw  his  mistake.  He  had  piw- 
chased  peace  for  himself,  but  what  about  Mary? 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  HEART  OF  MARY  MALONE 

"This  is  the  job  that  was  done  with  a  reaper, 

If  we  hustle  we  can  do  it  ourselves, 
Thus  securing  to  us  a  little  cheaper, 

The  bread  and  pie  upon  our  pantry  shelves. 

"Eat  this  wheat,  by  and  by, 

On  this  beautiful  Wabash  shore, 
Drink  this  rye,  by  and  by, 
Eat  and  drink  on  this  beautiful  shore." 

SO  SANG  Jimmy  as  he  drove  through  the  wheat, 
oats  and  rye  accompanied  by  the  clacking  machin- 
ery.   Dannie  stopped  stacking  sheaves  to  mop  his 
warm,  perspiring  face  while  he  listened.     Jimmy  always 
watching  the  effect  he  was  producing  immediately  broke 
into  wilder  parody: 

"Drive  this  mower,  a  little  slower, 

On  this  beautiful  Wabash  shore, 
Cuttin'  wheat  to  buy  our  meat, 

Cuttin'  oats,  to  buy  our  coats, 
Also  pants,  if  we  get  the  chance. 

"By  and  by,  we'll  cut  the  rye, 

But  I  bet  my  hat  I  drink  that,  I  drink  that. 
Drive  this  mower  a  little  slower, 

In  this  wheat,  in  this  wheat,  by  and  by.1* 
139 


140       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

The  larks  scolded,  fluttering  overhead,  for  at  times  the 
reaper  overtook  their  belated  broods.  The  bobolinks 
danced  and  chattered  on  stumps  and  fences,  in  an  agony  of 
suspense,  when  their  nests  were  approached,  crying  piti- 
fully if  they  were  destroyed.  The  chewinks  flashed  from 
the  ground  to  the  fences  or  trees,  and  back,  crying  "Che- 
wink?"  "Che-wee!"  to  each  other,  in  such  excitement  that 
they  appeared  to  be  in  danger  of  flirting  off  their  long  tails. 
The  quail  ran  around  the  shorn  fields,  excitedly  calling 
from  fence  riders  to  draw  their  flocks  into  the  security  of 
Rainbow  Bottom. 

Frightened  hares  bounded  through  the  wheat;  if  the 
cruel  blade  sheared  into  their  nests,  Dannie  gathered  the 
wounded  and  helpless  of  the  scattered  broods  in  his  hat, 
and  carried  them  to  Mary. 

Then  came  threshing,  which  was  a  busy  time,  but  after 
that,  through  the  long  hot  days  of  late  July  and  August, 
there  was  little  to  do  afield,  and  fishing  was  impossible. 
Dannie  grubbed  fence  corners,  mended  fences,  chopped 
and  corded  wood  for  winter,  in  spare  time  reading 
his  books.  For  the  most  part  Jimmy  kept  close  to 
Dannie. 

Jimmy's  temper  never  had  been  so  variable.  Dannie 
was  greatly  troubled,  for  despite  Jimmy's  protests  of  de- 
votion, he  flared  at  a  word;  sometimes  at  no  word  at  all. 
The  only  thing  in  which  he  really  seemed  interested  was 
the  coon  skin  he  was  dressing  to  send  to  Boston.  Over 
that  he  worked  by  the  hour,  sometimes  with  earnest  face; 
sometimes  he  raised  his  head,  to  utter  a  whoop  that  almost 
frightened  Mary.  At  such  times  he  was  sure  to  go  on  and 


THE  HEART  OF  MARY  MALONE         141 

give  her  some  new  detail  of  the  hunt  for  the  fifty  coons, 
that  he  had  forgotten  to  tell  her  before. 

He  had  been  to  the  hotel,  to  learn  the  Thread  Man's 
name  and  address,  learning  that  he  did  not  come  regularly, 
and  no  one  knew  when  to  expect  him.  So  when  he  had 
combed  and  brushed  the  fur  to  its  finest  point;  worked  the 
skin  until  it  was  velvet  soft,  and  bleached  it  until  it  was 
muslin  white,  he  made  it  into  a  neat  package  and  sent  it 
with  his  compliments  to  the  Boston  man. 

After  he  had  waited  a  week,  he  began  going  to  town 
every  day  to  the  post  office  for  the  letter  he  expected,  often 
coming  home  much  worse  because  of  a  visit  to  Casey's. 
Since  plowing  time  he  had  asked  Dannie  for  money  as  he 
wanted  it,  telling  him  to  keep  an  account,  so  he  would  pay 
him  in  the  fall.  He  seemed  to  forget  or  not  to  know  how 
fast  his  bills  grew. 

Then  came  a  week  in  August  when  the  heat  invaded 
even  the  cool  retreat  beside  the  river.  On  the  highway 
passing  wheels  rolled  back  the  dust  like  water,  or  raif.ed  it 
in  clouds  after  them.  The  rag  weeds  hung  wilted  heads 
along  the  road.  The  goldenrod  and  purple  ironwort  were 
dust-coloured  and  dust-choked.  The  trees  were  thirsty, 
and  their  leaves  shrivelling.  The  river  bed  was  bare  its 
width  in  places.  The  Kingfisher  made  merry  with  his 
family,  and  rattled,  feasting  from  Abram  Johnson's  to  the 
Gar-hole,  the  Black  Bass  sought  its  deep  pool,  and  lay 
still.  It  was  a  rare  thing  to  hear  it  splash  in  those  days. 

The  prickly  heat  burned  until  the  souls  of  men  were 
tried.  Mary  slipped  listlessly  around  or  lay  much  of  the 
time  on  a  couch  beside  a  window,  where  a  breath  of  air 


142       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

stirred.  Despite  the  good  beginning  he  had  made  in  the 
spring.  Jimmy  slumped  with  the  heat  and  exposures  he 
had  risked,  so  he  was  difficult  to  live  with. 

Dannie  was  not  having  a  good  time  himself.  Since 
Jimmy's  wedding,  life  had  been  all  grind  to  Dannie,  but  he 
kept  his  reason,  accepted  his  lot,  and  ground  his  grist  with 
patience  and  such  cheer  as  few  men  could  have  summoned 
to  the  aid  of  so  poor  a  cause. 

Had  there  been  any  one  to  notice  it,  Dannie  was  tired 
and  heat-ridden  also,  but  as  always,  Dannie  sank  self,  to 
labour  uncomplainingly  with  Jimmy's  problems.  On  a 
burning  August  morning  Dannie  went  to  breakfast,  find- 
ing Mary  white  and  nervous,  little  prepared  to  eat,  and  no 
sign  of  Jimmy. 

"Jimmy  sleeping?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know  where  Jimmy  is,"  Mary  answered  coldly. 

"Since  when?"  asked  Dannie,  gulping  coffee,  and  taking 
hasty  bites,  for  he  had  begun  his  breakfast  supposing  that 
Jimmy  would  come  presently. 

"He  left  as  soon  as  you  went  home  last  night,"  she  said, 
"and  he  has  not  come  back  yet," 

Dannie  did  not  know  what  to  say.  Loyal  to  the  bone  to 
Jimmy,  loving  each  hair  on  the  head  of  Mary  Malone;  she 
worn  and  neglected,  the  problem  was  heartbreaking  in  any 
solution  he  attempted,  and  he  felt  none  too  well  himself. 
He  arose  hastily,  muttering  something  about  getting  the 
work  done.  He  brought  in  wood  and  water,  then  asked  if 
there  were  anything  more  he  could  do. 

"Sure!"  said  Mary,  in  a  calm,  even  voice.  "Go  to 
the  barn,  and  shovel  manure  for  Jimmy  Malone,  and 


««  She  shook  with  strangled  sobs  until  she  scarce  could  staa, 
(see  page  122} 


144       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

ened  Jimmy's  limbs  he  thought  he  heard  a  step.  He  lifted 
his  head,  leaning  forward  to  listen. 

"Dannie  Micnoun?"  called  the  same  even,  cold  voice  he 
had  heard  at  breakfast.  "Have  you  left  me,  too?" 

Dannie  sprang  to  a  manger.  He  caught  an  armload  of 
hay,  throwing  it  over  Jimmy.  He  gave  one  hurried  toss  to 
scatter  it,  for  Mary  was  in  the  barn.  As  he  turned  to  inter- 
pose his  body  between  her  and  the  manger,  which  partially 
screened  Jimmy,  his  heart  sickened.  He  was  too  late. 
She  had  seen.  Frightened  to  the  soul,  he  stared  at  her. 
She  came  a  step  closer,  with  her  foot  giving  a  hand  of 
Jimmy's  that  lay  exposed  a  contemptuous  shove. 

"You  didn't  get  him  completely  covered,"  she  said. 
"How  long  have  you  had  him  here?" 

Dannie  was  frightened  into  speech.  "Na  a  minute, 
Mary;  he  juist  came  in  when  I  heard  ye.  I  was  trying  to 
spare  ye." 

"Him,  you  mane,"  she  said,  in  that  same  strange  voice. 
"I  suppose  you  give  him  money;  he  has  a  bottle,  and  he's 
been  here  all  night." 

"Mary,"  said  Dannie,  "that's  na  true.  I  have  fur- 
nished him  money.  He'd  mortgage  the  farm,  or  do  some- 
thing worse  if  I  didna;  but  I  dinna  where  he  has  been  all 
nicht,  and  in  trying  to  cover  him,  my  only  thought  was  to 
save  ye  pain." 

"And  whin  you  let  him  spind  money  you  know  you'll 
never  get  back,  and  loaf  while  you  do  his  work,  and  when 
you  lie  mountain  high,  times  without  number,  who  is  it 
for?" 

Then  fifteen  years'  restraint  slid  from  Dannie  like  a 


THE  HEART  OF  MARY  MALONE         145 

cloak,  while  in  the  torture  of  his  soul  his  slow  tongue  outran 
all  its  previous  history. 

"Ye!"  he  shouted.  "It's  fra  Jimmy,  too,  but  ye  first. 
Always  ye  first!" 

Mary  began  to  tremble.  Her  white  cheeks  burned  red. 
Her  figure  straightened;  her  hands  clenched. 

"  On  the  cross !     Do  you  swear  it  ? "  she  cried. 

"On  the  sacred  body  of  Jesus  Himself,  if  I  could  face 
Him,"  answered  Dannie.  "Onything!  Everything  is  fra 
ye  first,  Mary!" 

"Then  why?"  she  panted  between  gasps  for  breath. 
"Tell  me  why?  If  you  have  cared  for  me  enough  to  stay 
here  all  these  years  and  see  that  I  had  the  bist  tratemint 
you  could  get  for  me,  why  didn't  you  care  for  me  enough 
more  to  save  me  this  ?  Oh,  Dannie,  tell  me  why  ? " 

Then  she  shook  with  strangled  sobs  until  she  scarcely 
could  stand  alone. 

Dannie  Macnoun  cleared  the  space  between  them  taking 
her  in  his  arms.  Her  trembling  hands  clung  to  him,  her 
head  dropped  on  his  breast,  the  perfume  of  her  hair  in  his 
nostrils  drove  him  mad.  Then  the  tense  bulk  of  her  body 
struck  against  him,  filling  his  soul  with  horror.  One 
second  he  held  her,  the  next,  Jimmy  smothering  under  the 
hay,  threw  up  an  arm,  calling  like  a  petulant  child. 

"  Dannie !     Make  shun  quit  shinish  my  fashe ! " 

Dannie  awoke  to  the  realization  that  Mary  was  another 
man's,  and  that  man,  one  who  trusted  him  completely. 
The  problem  was  so  much  too  big  for  poor  Dannie  that 
reason  kindly  fled.  He  broke  from  the  grasp  of  the  woman, 
fled  through  the  back  door,  and  entered  the  woods. 


146       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

He  ran  as  if  fiends  were  after  him,  and  he  ran  and  ran. 
And  when  he  could  run  no  longer,  he  walked,  but  he  went 
on.  On  and  on.  He  crossed  forests  and  fields,  orchards 
and  highways,  streams  and  rivers,  deep  woods  and  swamps, 
and  on,  and  on  he  went.  He  felt  nothing,  saw  nothing, 
thought  nothing,  save  to  go  on,  always  on.  In  the  dark 
he  stumbled  on,  through  the  day  he  staggered  on,  while 
he  stopped  for  nothing,  save  at  times  to  lift  water  to  his 
parched  lips. 

The  bushes  took  his  hat,  the  thorns  ripped  his  shirt, 
the  water  soaked  his  shoes  so  they  spread  until  his  feet 
came  through  while  the  stones  cut  them  until  they  bled. 
Leaves  and  twigs  stuck  in  his  hair,  his  eyes  grew  blood- 
shot, his  lips  and  tongue  swollen.  When  he  could  go  no 
farther  on  his  feet,  he  crawled  on  his  knees,  until  at  last 
he  pitched  forward  on  his  face  and  lay  still.  The  tumult 
was  over  so  Mother  Nature  set  to  work  to  see  about  re- 
pairing damages. 

Dannie  was  so  badly  damaged,  soul,  heart,  and  body, 
that  she  never  would  have  been  equal  to  the  task,  but 
another  woman  happened  that  way  so  she  helped. 

Dannie  was  carried  to  a  house  and  a  doctor  dressed  his 
hurts.  When  the  physician  made  his  examination,  he 
was  amazed  to  fine  a  big,  white-bodied,  fine-faced  Scotch- 
man in  the  heart  of  the  wreck:  a  wild  man,  but  not  a 
whiskey  bloat:  a  crazy  man,  but  not  a  maniac.  He  stood 
long  beside  Dannie  as  he  lay  unconscious. 

"I'll  take  oath  that  man  has  wronged  no  one/'  he  said. 
"What  in  the  name  of  God  has  some  woman  been  doing 
to  him?" 


THE  HEART  OF  MARY  MALONE    147 

He  took  money  from  Dannie's  wallet  and  bought  cloth- 
ing to  replace  the  rags  he  had  burned.  He  filled  Dannie 
with  nourishment,  telling  the  woman  who  found  him  that 
when  he  awakened,  if  he  did  not  remember,  to  tell  him 
that  his  name  was  Dannie  Macnoun;  that  he  lived  in 
Rainbow  Bottom,  Adams  County.  For  at  that  time 
Dannie  was  halfway  across  the  state. 

A  day  later  he  awakened,  in  a  strange  room  and  among 
strange  faces.  He  took  up  life  exactly  where  he  left  off. 
So  in  his  ears,  as  he  remembered  his  flight,  rang  the  awful 
cry  uttered  by  Mary  Malone,  and  not  until  then  did  there 
come  to  Dannie  the  realization  that  she  had  been  driven 
to  seek  him  for  help,  because  her  woman's  hour  was  upon 
her.  Cold  fear  froze  Dannie's  soul. 

He  went  back  by  railway  and  walked  the  train  most  of 
the  way.  He  dropped  from  the  cars  at  the  water  tank 
cutting  across  country,  and  again  he  ran:  but  this  time 
it  was  no  headlong  flight.  Straight  as  a  homing  bird 
went  Dannie  with  all  speed,  toward  the  foot  of  the  Rain- 
bow and  Mary  Malone. 

The  Kingfisher  sped  rattling  down  the  river  when  Dan- 
nie came  crashing  along  the  bank. 

"Oh,  God,  let  her  be  alive!"  prayed  Dannie  as  he  leaned 
panting  against  a  tree  for  an  instant,  because  he  was  very 
close  now  and  sickeningly  afraid.  Then  he  ran  on.  In 
a  minute  it  would  be  over.  At  the  next  turn  he  could  see 
the  cabins.  As  he  dashed  along,  Jimmy  Malone  arose 
from  a  log  and  faced  him.  A  white  Jimmy,  with  black- 
ringed  eyes  and  shaking  hands. 

"Where  the  hell  have  you  been?"  Jimmy  demanded. 


i48        AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

"Is  she  dead?"  cried  Dannie, 

"The  doctor  is  talking  scare,"  said  Jimmy.  "But  I 
don't  scare  so  easy.  She's  never  been  sick  in  her  life, 
and  she  has  lived  through  it  twice  before,  why  should 
she  die  now?  Of  course  the  kid  is  dead  again,"  he  added 
angrily. 

Dannie  shut  his  eyes  and  stood  still.  He  had  helped 
plant  star-flowers  on  two  tiny  cross-marked  mounds  at 
Five  Mile  Hill.  Now,  there  were  three.  Jimmy  had 
worn  out  her  love  for  him,  that  was  plain. 

"Why  should  she  die  now? "  To  Dannie  it  seemed  that 
question  should  have  been :  "Why  should  she  live?" 

Jimmy  eyed  him  belligerently.  "Why  in  the  name  of 
sinse  did  you  cut  out  whin  I  was  off  me  pins  ? "  he  growled. 
"Of  course  I  don't  blame  you  for  cutting  that  kind  of  a 
party,  me  for  the  woods,  all  right,  but  what  I  can't  see  is 
why  you  couldn't  have  gone  for  the  doctor  and  waited 
until  I'd  slept  it  off  before  you  wint." 

"I  dinna  know  she  was  sick,"  answered  Dannie.  "I 
deserve  anything  ony  ane  can  say  to  me,  and  it's  all  my 
fault  if  she  dees,  but  this  ane  thing  ye  got  to  say  ye  know 
richt  noo,  Jimmy.  Ye  got  to  say  ye  know  that  I  dinna 
understand  Mary  was  sick  when  I  went." 

"Sure!  I've  said  that  all  the  time,"  agreed  Jimmy. 
"But  what  I  don't  understand  is,  why  you  went!  I  guess 
she  thinks  it  was  her  fault.  I  came  out  here  to  try  to  study 
it  out.  The  nurse-woman,  domn  pretty  girl,  says  if  you 
don't  get  back  before  midnight,  it's  all  up.  You're  just 
on  time,  Dannie.  The  talk  in  the  house  is  that  she'M 
wink  out  if  you  don't  prove  to  her  that  she  didn't  drive 


THE  HEART  OF  MARY  MALONE         149 

you  away.  She  is  about  crazy  over  it.  What  did  she  do 
to  you  ? " 

"Nothing!"  exclaimed  Dannie.  "She  was  so  deathly 
sick  she  dinna  what  she  was  doing.  I  can  see  it  noo,  but 
I  dinna  understand  then." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Jimmy.  "She  didn't!  She 
kapes  moaning  over  and  over,  'What  did  I  do?'  You 
hustle  in  and  fix  it  up  with  her.  I'm  getting  tired  of  all 
this  racket." 

All  Dannie  heard  was  that  he  was  to  go  to  Mary.  He 
went  up  the  lane,  across  the  garden,  and  stepped  in 
the  back  door.  Beside  the  table  stood  a  comely  young 
woman,  dressed  in  blue  and  white  stripes.  She  was 
doing  something  with  eggs  and  milk.  She  glanced  at 
Dannie,  then  finished  filling  a  glass.  As  she  held  it  to 
the  light: 

"Is  your  name  Macnoun?"  she  inquired. 

"Yes,"  said  Dannie. 

"Dannie  Macnoun?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Dannie. 

"Then  you  are  the  medicine  needed  here  just  now,"  she 
said,  as  if  that  were  the  most  natural  statement  in  the 
world.  "Mrs.  Malone  seems  to  have  an  idea  that  she 
offended  you,  and  drove  you  from  home,  just  prior  to  her 
illness,  and  as  she  has  been  very  sick,  she  is  in  no  condition 
to  bear  other  trouble.  You  understand  ? " 

"Do  ye  understand  that  I  couldna  have  gone  if  I  had 
known  she  was  ill?"  asked  Dannie  in  turn. 

**From  what  she  had  said  in  delirium  I  have  been  sure 
of  that,"  replied  the  nurse.  "It  seems  you  have  been  the 


ISO       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

stay  of  the  family  for  years.  I  have  a  very  high  opinion 
of  you,  Mr.  Macnoun.  Wait  until  I  speak  to  her." 

The  nurse  vanished,  presently  returned,  and  as  Dannie 
passed  through  the  door,  she  closed  it  after  him.  He 
stood  still,  trying  to  see  in  the  dim  light. 

That  great  snowy  stretch,  that  must  be  the  bed.  That 
tumbled  dark  circle,  that  must  be  Mary's  hair.  That 
dead  white  thing  beneath  it,  that  must  be  Mary's  face. 
Those  burning  lights,  flaming  on  him,  those  must  be 
Mary's  eyes.  Dannie  stepped  softly  across  the  room,  to 
bend  over  the  bed.  He  tried  hard  to  speak  naturally. 

"Mary,"  he  said,  "oh,  Mary,  I  dinna  know  ye  were  ill! 
Oh,  believe  me,  I  dinna  realize  ye  were  suffering  pain/' 

She  smiled  faintly,  while  her  lips  moved.  Dannie  bent 
lower. 

"Promise,"  she  panted.     "Promise  you  will  stay  now." 

Her  hand  fumbled  at  her  breast,  and  then  she  slipped 
on  the  white  cover  a  little  black  cross.  Dannie  knew  what 
she  meant.  He  laid  his  hand  on  the  emblem  precious  to 
her,  and  said  gently: 

"I  swear  I  never  will  leave  ye  again,  Mary  Malone." 

A  great  light  swept  into  her  face,  and  she  smiled  happily. 

"Now  ye,"  said  Dannie.  He  slipped  the  cross  into  hef 
hand.  "Repeat  after  me,"  he  s^id.  "I  promise  I  will 
get  well,  Dannie." 

"I  promise  I  will  get  well,  Dannie,  if  I  can,"  said  Mary. 

"Na,"  said  Dannie.  "That  winna  do.  Repeat  what 
I  said,  and  remember  it  is  on  the  cross.  Life  hasna  been 
richt  for  ye,  Mary,  but  if  ye  will  get  well,  before  the  Lord 
in  some  way  we  will  make  it  happier.  Ye  will  get  well?" 


THE  HEART  OF  MARY  MALONE        151 

**I  promise  I  will  get  well,  Dannie,"  said  Mary  Malone, 
so  Dannie  quietly  left  the  room. 

Outside  he  said  to  the  nurse:  "What  can  I  do?" 

She  told  him  everything  of  which  she  could  think  that 
would  be  of  benefit. 

"Now  tell  me  all  ye  know  of  what  happened,"  com- 
manded Dannie. 

"After  you  left,"  said  the  nurse,  "she  was  in  labour. 
She  could  not  waken  her  husband,  so  she  grew  frightened 
and  screamed.  There  were  men  passing  on  the  road. 
They  heard  her,  and  came  to  see  what  was  the  matter." 

"Strangers?"  shuddered  Dannie,  with  dry  lips. 

"No,  neighbours.  One  man  went  after  the  nearest 
woman,  while  the  other  drove  to  town  for  a  doctor.  They 
had  help  here  almost  as  soon  as  you  could.  But,  of  course, 
the  shock  was  a  very  dreadful  thing;  then  the  heat  of  the 
past  few  weeks  has  been  enervating." 

"Ane  thing  more,"  questioned  Dannie.  "Why  do 
her  children  dee?" 

"I  don't  know  about  the  others,"  answered  the  nurse. 
"This  one  simply  couldn't  be  made  to  breathe.  It  was  a 
strange  thing.  It  was  a  fine  big  baby,  a  boy,  and  it  seemed 
perfect,  but  we  couldn't  save  it.  I  never  worked  harder. 
They  told  me  she  had  lost  two  others,  so  we  tried  every- 
thing  of  which  we  could  think.  It  just  seemed  as  if  it  had 
grown  a  lump  of  flesh,  with  no  vital  spark  in  it." 

Dannie  turned,  went  out  of  ".he  door,  and  back  along  the 
lane  to  the  river  where  he  had  left  Jimmy  Malone. 

"'A  lump  of  flesh  with  na  vital  spark  in  it,'"  he  kept  re- 
peating. "I  dinna  but  that  is  the  secret.  She  is  almost 


152 

numb  with  misery.  All  these  days  when  she's  been  with- 
out hope,  and  these  awful  nichts  when  she's  watched  and 
feared  alone,  she  has  no  wished  to  perpetuate  him  in  chil- 
dren who  might  be  like  him,  so  at  their  coming  the  'vital 
spark*  is  na  in  them.  Oh,  Jimmy,  Jimmy,  have  ye 
Mary's  happiness  and  those  three  little  graves  to  answer 
for?" 

He  found  Jimmy  asleep  where  he  had  left  him.  Dannie 
shook  him  awake.  "I  want  to  talk  with  ye,"  he  said. 

Jimmy  sat  up,  and  looked  into  Dannie's  face.  He  had  a 
complaint  on  his  lips  but  it  died  there.  He  tried  to  apolo- 
gize. 

"I  am  almost  dead  for  sleep,"  he  said.  "There  has  been 
no  rest  for  any  one  here.  What  do  you  think?" 

"I  think  she  will  live,"  said  Dannie  dryly.  "In  spite  of 
your  neglect,  and  my  cowardice,  I  think  she  will  live  to 
suffer  more  frae  us." 

Jimmy's  mouth  opened,  but  for  once  no  sound  issued. 
The  drops  of  perspiration  raised  on  his  forehead. 

Dannie  sat  down,  and  staring  at  him  Jimmy  saw  that 
there  were  patches  of  white  hair  at  his  temples  that  had 
been  brown  a  week  before;  his  colourless  face  was  sunken 
almost  to  the  bone,  while  there  was  a  peculiar  twist  around, 
his  mouth.  Jimmy's  heart  weighed  heavily,  his  tongue 
stood  still,  and  he  grew  afraid  to  the  marrow  in  his  bones. 

"I  think  she  will  live,"  repeated  Dannie.  "And  about 
the  suffering  more,  we  will  face  that  like  men,  and  see 
what  can  be  done  about  it.  This  makes  three  little  graves 
on  the  hill,  Jimmy.  What  do  they  mean  to  ye  ? " 

"Domn  bad  luck,"  said  Jimmy  promptly. 


THE  HEART  OF  MARY  MALONE    153 

"Nothing  more?"  asked  Dannie.  "Na  responsibility 
at  all.  Ye  are  the  father  of  those  children.  Have  ye 
never  been  to  the  doctor,  and  asked  why  ye  lost  them?" 

"No,  I  haven't,"  said  Jimmy. 

"That  is  ane  thing  we  will  do  now,"  said  Dannie,  "and 
then  we  will  do  more,  much  more." 

"What  are  you  driving  at?"  asked  Jimmy. 

"The  secret  of  Mary's  heart,"  said  Dannie. 

The  cold  sweat  ran  from  the  pores  of  Jimmy's  body.  He 
licked  his  dry  lips,  and  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  that  he 
might  watch  Dannie  from  under  the  brim. 

"We  are  twa  big,  strong  men,"  said  Dannie.  "For 
fifteen  years  we  have  lived  here  wi'  Mary.  The  night  ye 
married  her,  the  licht  of  happiness  went  out  for  me.  But  I 
shut  my  mouth,  and  shouldered  my  burden,  and  went  on 
with  my  best  foot  first;  because  if  she  had  na  refused  me,  I 
should  have  married  her,  and  then  ye  would  have  been  the 
one  to  suffer.  If  she  had  chosen  me,  I  should  have  mar- 
ried her,  juist  as  ye  did.  Oh,  I've  never  forgotten  that!  So 
I  have  na  been  a  happy  mon,  Jimmy.  We  winna  go  into 
that  any  further,  we've  been  over  it  once.  It  seems  to  be  a 
form  of  torture  especially  designed  fra  me,  though  at  times 
I  must  confess,  it  seems  rough,  and  I  canna  see  why,  but 
we'll  cut  that  off  with  this:  life  has  been  hell's  hottest 
sweat-box  fra  me  these  fifteen  years." 

Jimmy  groaned  aloud.  Dannie's  keen  gray  eyes  seemed 
boring  into  the  soul  of  the  man  before  him,  as  he  went  on. 

"Now  how  about  ye  ?  Ye  got  the  girl  ye  wanted.  Ye 
own  a  guid  farm  that  would  make  ye  a  living,  and  save  ye 
money  every  year.  Ye  have  done  iuist  what  ye  pleasedj 


154       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

and  as  far  as  I  could,  I  have  helped  ye.  I've  had  my  eye 
on  ye  pretty  close,  Jimmy,  and  if  ye  are  a  happy  mon,  I 
dinna  but  I'm  content  as  I  am.  What's  your  trouble? 
Did  ye  find  ye  dinna  love  Mary  after  ye  won  her?  Did  ye 
murder  your  mither  or  blacken  your  soul  with  some  deadly 
sin  ?  Mon !  If  I  had  in  my  life  what  ye  every  day  neglect 
and  torture,  Heaven  would  come  doon,  and  locate  at  the 
foot  of  the  Rainbow  fra  me.  But,  ye  are  not  happy, 
Jimmy.  Let's  get  at  the  root  of  the  matter.  While  ye  are 
unhappy,  Mary  will  be  also.  We  are  responsible  to  God 
for  her,  and  between  us,  she  is  empty  armed,  near  to  death, 
and  almost  dumb  with  misery.  I  have  juist  sworn  to  her 
on  the  cross  she  loves  that  if  she  will  make  ane  more  effort, 
and  get  well,  we  will  make  her  happy.  Now,  how  are  we 
going  to  doit?" 

Another  great  groan  burst  from  Jimmy,  while  he  shivered 
as  if  with  a  chill. 

"Let  us  look  ourselves  in  the  face,"  Dannie  went  on, 
" and  see  what  we  lack.  What  can  we  do  fra  her?  What 
will  bring  a  song  to  her  lips,  licht  to  her  beautiful  eyes,  love 
to  her  heart,  and  a  living  child  to  her  arms?  Wake  up, 
mon!  By  God,  if  ye  dinna  set  to  work  with  me  and  solve 
this  problem,  I'll  shake  a  solution  out  of  ye!  What  I  must 
suffer  is  my  own,  but  what's  the  matter  with  ye,  and  why, 
when  she  loved  and  married  ye,  are  ye  breakin'  Mary's 
heart?  Answer  me,  mon!" 

Dannie  reached  over,  snatching  the  hat  from  Jimmy's 
forehead,  and  stared  at  an  inert  heap.  Jimmy  lay  sense- 
less, while  he  looked  like  death.  Dannie  rushed  down  to 
the  water  with  the  hat,  and  splashed  drops  into  Jimmy's 


THE  HEART  OF  MARY  MALONE         155 

face  until  he  gasped  for  breath.  When  he  recovered  a  little 
he  shrank  from  Dannie,  beginning  to  sob,  as  if  he  were  a 
sick  ten-year-old  child. 

"I  knew  you'd  go  back  on  me,  Dannie,"  he  wavered. 
"I've  lost  the  only  frind  I've  got,  and  I  wish  I  was  dead." 

"I  havena  gone  back  on  ye,"  persisted  Dannie,  bathing 
Jimmy's  face.  "Life  means  nothing  to  me,  save  as  I  can 
use  it  fia  Mary  and  fra  ye.  Be  quiet,  and  sit  up  here,  and 
help  me  work  this  thing  out.  Why  are  ye  a  discontented 
mon,  always  wishing  fra  any  place  save  home  ?  Why  do  ye 
spend  all  ye  earn  foolishly,  so  that  ye  are  always  hard  up, 
when  ye  might  have  affluence?  Why  does  Mary  lose  her 
children,  and  why  does  she  noo  wish  she  had  na  married 
ye?" 

"Who  said  she  wished  she  hadn't  married  me?"  cried 
Jimmy. 

"Do  ye  mean  to  say  ye  think  she  doesn't?"  blazed 
Dannie. 

"I  ain't  said  anything!"  exclaimed  Jimmy. 

"Na,  and  I  seem  to  have  damn  poor  luck  gettin'  ye  to 
say  anything.  I  dinna  ask  fra  tears,  nor  faintin*  like  a 
woman.  Be  a  mon,  and  let  me  into  the  secret  of  this 
muddle.  There  is  a  secret,  and  ye  know  it.  What  is  it? 
Why  are  ye  breaking  the  heart  o'  Mary  Malone?  Answer 
me,  or  'fore  God  I'll  wring  the  answer  frae  your  body!" 

Jimmy  rolled  over  again.  This  time  he  was  gone  so  far 
that  Dannie  was  frightened  into  a  panic,  and  called  the 
doctor  coming  up  the  lane  to  Jimmy  before  he  had  time 
to  see  Mary.  The  doctor  soon  brought  Jimmy  around, 
prescribed  quiet  and  sleep;  talked  about  heart  trouble  de- 


156       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

veloping,  and  symptoms  of  tremens,  while  Dannie  poured 
on  water,  and  gritted  his  teeth. 

It  ended  by  Jimmy  being  helped  to  Dannie's  cabin,  un- 
dressed, and  put  into  bed,  then  Dannie  went  over  to  see 
what  he  could  do  for  the  nurse.  She  looked  at  him.search- 
ingly. 

"Mr.  Macnoun,  when  were  you  last  asleep?"  she  asked. 

"I  forget,"  answered  Dannie. 

"When  did  you  last  have  a  good  hot  meal?" 

"I  dinna  know,"  replied  Dannie. 

" Drink  that,"  said  the  nuise,  handing  him  the  bowl  of 
broth  she  carried,  and  going  back  to  the  stove  for  another. 
"When  I  have  finished  making  Mrs.  Malone  comfortable, 
I'm  going  to  get  you  something  to  eat,  and  you  are  going  to 
eat  it.  Then  you  must  lie  down  on  that  cot  where  I  can 
call  you  if  I  need  you,  and  sleep  six  hours,  and  then  you're 
going  to  wake  up  and  watch  by  this  door  while  I  sleep  my 
six.  Even  nurses  must  have  some  rest,  you  know." 

"Ye  first,"  said  Dannie.  "I'll  be  all  richt  when  I  get 
food.  Since  ye  mention  it,  I  believe  I  am  almost  mad 
with  hunger." 

The  nurse  handed  him  another  bowl  of  broth.  "Just 
drink  that,  and  drink  slowly,"  she  said,  as  she  left  the 
room. 

Dannie  could  hear  her  speaking  gently  to  Mary;  then  all 
was  quiet,  and  the  girl  came  out  and  closed  the  door.  She 
deftly  prepared  food  for  Dannie.  He  ate  all  she  would 
allow  him,  and  begged  for  more;  but  she  firmly  told  him 
her  hands  were  full  now,  and  she  had  no  one  to  depend  on 
save  him  to  watch  after  the  turn  of  the  night. 


THE  HEART  OF  MARY  MALONE   '157 

So  Dannie  lay  down  on  the  cot.  He  had  barely  touched 
it  when  he  thought  of  Jimmy,  so  he  got  up  quietly  and 
started  home.  He  had  almost  reached  his  back  dcor 
when  it  opened,  and  Jimmy  came  out.  Dannie  paused, 
amazed  at  Jimmy's  wild  face  and  staring  eyes. 

"Don't  you  begin  your  cursed  gibberish  again,"  cried 
Jimmy,  at  sight  of  him.  "I'm  burning  in  all  the  tortures 
of  fire  now,  and  I'll  have  a  drink  if  I  smash  down  Casey'* 
and  steal  it." 

Dannie  jumped  for  him,  but  Jimmy  evaded  him  and 
fled.  Dannie  started  after.  He  had  reached  the  barn 
before  he  began  to  think.  "I  depend  on  you,"  the  nurse 
had  said.  "Jimmy,  wait!"  he  called.  "Jimmy,  have  ye 
any  money?"  Jimmy  was  running  along  the  path  toward 
town.  Dannie  stopped.  He  stood  staring  after  Jimmy 
for  a  second,  then  he  deliberately  turned,  went  back,  and 
lay  down  on  the  cot,  where  the  nurse  expected  to  find  him 
when  she  wanted  him  to  watch  beside  the  door  of  Mary 
M  alone. 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD 

WHAT  do  you  think  about  fishing,  Dannie?" 
asked  Jimmy  Malone. 
"There  was  a  licht  frost  last  nicht,"  said  Dan- 
nie.    "It  begins  to  look  that  way.     I  should  think  a  week 
more,  especially  if  there  should  come  a  guid  rain." 

Jimmy  appeared  disappointed.  His  last  trip  to  town 
had  ended  in  a  sodden  week  in  the  barn,  or  at  Dannie's 
cabin.  For  the  first  time  he  had  carried  whiskey  home 
with  j'lim.  He  had  insisted  on  Dannie  drinking  with  him, 
and  wanted  to  fight  when  he  would  not.  He  addressed 
the  bottle  and  Dannie  as  the  Sovereign  Alchemist  by  turns, 
and  "transmuted  the  leaden  metal  of  life  into  the  pure 
gold"  of  a  glorious  drunk,  until  his  craving  was  satisfied. 
Then  he  came  back  to  reason  and  work  one  morning,  and 
by  the  time  Mary  was  well  enough  to  notice  him,  he  was 
Jimmy  at  his  level  best;  doing  more  than  he  had  in  years  to 
try  to  interest  and  please  her. 

Mary  had  fully  recovered;  she  appeared  as  strong  as  she 
ever  had  been,  but  there  was  a  noticeable  change  in  her. 
She  talked  and  laughed  with  a  gayety  that  seemed  forced, 
then  in  the  midst  of  it  her  tongue  turned  bitter,  so  that 
Jimmy  and  Dannie  fled  before  it. 

The  gray  hairs  multiplied  on  Dannie's  head  with  rapid- 

161 


162       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

ity.  He  had  gone  to  the  doctor,  also  to  Mary's  sister,  and 
learned  nothing  more  than  the  nurse  could  tell  him.  Dan- 
nie was  willing  to  undertake  anything  in  the  world  for 
Mary,  but  just  how  to  furnish  the  "vital  spark,"  to  an 
unborn  babe  was  too  big  a  problem  for  him.  Jimmy  Ma" 
/one  was  growing  to  be  another. 

Heretofore,  Dannie  had  borne  the  brunt  of  the  work, 
and  all  of  the  worry.  He  had  let  Jimmy  feel  that  his  was 
the  guiding  hand.  Jimmy's  plans  were  followed  whenever 
it  was  possible;  when  it  was  not,  Dannie  started  Jimmy's 
way,  then  gradually  worked  around  to  his  own.  But 
there  never  had  been  a  time  between  them,  when  thing? 
really  came  to  a  crisis,  and  Dannie  took  the  lead,  saying 
matters  must  go  a  certain  way,  that  Jimmy  had  not  ac- 
ceded. In  reality,  Dannie  always  had  been  master. 

Now  he  was  not.  Where  he  lost  control  he  did  not 
know.  He  had  tried  several  times  to  return  to  the  subject 
of  how  to  bring  back  happiness  to  Mary,  but  Jimmy  im- 
mediately developed  symptoms  of  another  attack  of  heart 
disease,  a  tendency  to  start  for  town,  or  openly  defied  him 
by  walking  away.  Yet,  Jimmy  kept  closer  to  him  than  he 
ever  had,  absolutely  refusing  to  go  anywhere,  or  to  do  the 
smallest  piece  of  work  alone.  Sometimes  he  grew  sullen 
and  morose  when  he  was  not  drinking,  which  was  very 
unlike  the  gay  Jimmy.  Sometimes  he  grew  wildly  hilari- 
ous, as  if  he  were  determined  to  make  such  a  racket  that 
he  could  hear  no  sound  save  his  own  voice.  As  long  as  he 
stayed  at  home,  helped  with  the  work,  and  made  an  effort 
to  please  Mary,  Dannie  hoped  for  the  best,  but  his  hopes 
never  grew  so  bright  that  they  shut  out  an  awful  fear  that 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD  163 

was  beginning  to  loom  in  the  future.  He  tried  in  every 
way  to  encourage  Jimmy,  to  help  him  in  the  struggle  he 
did  not  understand;  so  when  he  saw  that  Jimmy  was  dis- 
appointed about  the  fishing,  he  suggested  that  he  should 
go  alone. 

"I  guess  not!"  said  Jimmy.  "I'd  rather  go  to  con- 
Ussion  than  to  go  alone.  What's  the  fun  of  fishin*  alone? 
All  the  fun  there  is  to  fishin'  is  to  watch  the  other  fellow's 
eyes  when  you  pull  in  a  big  one,  and  try  to  hide  yours 
from  him  when  he  gets  it.  I  guess  not!  What  have  we 
got  to  do?" 

"Finish  cutting  the  corn,  and  get  in  the  pumpkins  be- 
fore there  comes  frost  enough  to  hurt  them." 

"Well,  come  along!"  said  Jimmy.  "Let's  get  it  over. 
I'm  going  to  begin  fishing  for  that  Bass  the  morning  after 
the  first  black  frost,  if  I  do  go  alone.  I  mean  it! " 

"  But  ye  said —      "  began  Dannie. 

"Hagginy!"  cried  Jimmy.  "What  a  lot  of  time  you've 
wasted  if  you've  been  kaping  account  of  all  the  things 
I've  said.  Haven't  you  learned  by  this  time  that  I  lie 
twice  to  the  truth  once  ? " 

Dannie  laughed.  "Dinna  say  such  things,  Jimmy.  I 
hate  to  hear  ye.  Of  course,  I  know  about  the  fifty  coons 
of  the  Canoper,  and  things*  like  that;  honest,  I  dinna  be- 
lieve ye  can  help  it.  But  na  man  need  lie  about  a  serious 
matter,  and  when  he  knows  he  is  deceiving  another  who 
trusts  him."  Jimmy  became  so  white  that  he  felt  the 
colour  receding,  and  turned  to  hide  his  face.  "Of  course, 
about  those  fifty  coons  noo,  what  was  the  harm  in  that? 
Nobody  believed  it.  That  wasna  deceiving  any  ane," 


164       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

"Yes,  but  it  was,"  answered  Jimmy.  "The  Boston 
man  belaved  it,  and  I  guiss  he  hasn't  forgiven  me,  if  he 
did  take  my  hand,  and  drink  with  me.  You  know  I 
haven't  had  a  word  from  him  about  that  coon  skin.  I 
worked  awful  hard  on  that  skin.  Some  way,  I  tried  to 
make  it  say  to  him  again  that  I  was  sorry  for  that  night's 
work.  Sometimes  I  am  afraid  I  killed  the  fellow." 

"O-ho!"  scoffed  Dannie.  "Men  ain't  so  easy  killed. 
I  been  thinkin'  about  it,  too,  and  I'll  tell  ye  what  I  think. 
I  think  he  goes  on  long  trips,  and  only  gets  home  every 
four  or  five  months.  The  package  would  have  to  wait. 
His  folks  wouldna  try  to  send  it  after  him.  He  was  a 
monly  fellow,  all  richt,  and  ye  will  hear  fra  him  yet." 

"I'd  like  to,"  said  Jimmy,  absently,  beating  across  his 
palm  a  spray  of  goldenrod  he  had  broken.  "Just  a  line 
to  tell  me  that  he  don't  bear  malice." 

"Ye  will  get  it,"  said  Dannie.  "Have  a  little  patience. 
But  that's  your  greatest  fault,  Jimmy.  Ye  never  did 
have  ony  patience." 

"Don't  begin  on  me  faults  again,"  snapped  Jimmy.  "I 
reckon  I  know  me  faults  about  as  well  as  the  nixt  fellow. 
I'm  so  domn  full  of  faults  that  I've  thought  a  lot  lately 
about  fillin'  up,  and  takin'  a  sleep  on  the  railroad." 

A  new  fear  wrung  Dannie's  soul.  "Ye  never  would, 
Jimmy,"  he  implored. 

"Sure  not!"  cried  Jimmy.  "I'm  no  good  Catholic 
livin',  but  if  it  come  to  dyin',  bedad  I  niver  could  face  it 
without  first  confissin*  to  the  praste,  and  that  would  give 
the  game  away.  Let's  cut  out  dyin',  and  cut  corn ! " 

"That's  richt,"  agreed  Dannie.     "And  let's  work  like 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD  165 

men,  and  then  fish  fra  a  week  or  so,  before  ice  and  trap- 
ping time  comes  again.  I'll  wager  I  can  beat  ye  the  first 
row." 

"Bate!"  scoffed  Jimmy.  "Bate!  With  them  club- 
footed  fingers  of  yours  ?  You  couldn't  bate  an  egg.  Just 
watch  me!  If  you  are  enough  of  a  watch  to  keep  your 
hands  runnin'  at  the  same  time." 

Jimmy  worked  feverishly  for  an  hour;  and  then  he 
straightened  and  looked  around  him.  On  the  left  lay 
the  river,  its  shores  bordered  with  trees  and  bushes.  Be- 
hind them  was  deep  wood.  Before  them  lay  their  open 
fields,  sloping  down  to  the  bottom,  the  cabins  on  one  side, 
and  the  kingfisher  embankment  on  the  other.  There 
was  a  smoky  haze  in  the  air.  As  always  the  blackbirds 
clamoured  beside  the  river.  Some  crows  followed  the 
workers  at  a  distance,  hunting  for  grains  of  corn,  while  in 
the  woods,  a  chewink  scratched  and  rustled  among  the 
deep  leaves  as  it  searched  for  grubs.  From  time  to  time 
a  flock  of  quail  arose  before  them  with  a  whirr  and  scat- 
tered down  the  fields,  reassembling  later  at  the  call  of  their 
leader,  from  a  rider  of  the  snake  fence,  which  inclosed  the 
field. 

"Bob,  Bob  White,"  whistled  Dannie. 

"Bob,  Bob  White,"  answ.ered  the  quail. 

"I  got  my  eye  on  that  fellow,"  said  Jimmy.  "When 
he  grows  a  little  larger,  I'm  going  after  him." 

"Seems  an  awful  pity  to  kill  him,"  said  Dannie.  "Peo- 
ple rave  over  the  lark,  but  I  vow  I'd  miss  the  quail  most 
if  they  were  both  gone.  They  are  getting  scarce." 

"Well,  I  didn't  say  I  was  going  to  kill  the  whole  flock," 


166       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

said  Jimmy.  "I  was  just  going  to  kill  a  few  for  Mary, 
and  if  I  don't,  somebody  else  will." 

"Mary  dinna  need  onvthing  better  than  ane  of  her  own 
fried  chickens,"  said  Dannie.  "And  it's  no  true  about 
hunters.  We've  the  river  on  ane  side,  and  the  bluff  on 
the  other.  If  we  keep  up  our  fishing  signs,  add  hunting 
to  them,  and  juist  shut  the  other  fellows  out,  the  birds 
will  come  here  like  everything  wild  gathers  in  National 
Park,  out  West.  Ye  bet  things  know  where  they  are 
taken  care  of,  well  enough." 

Jimmy  snipped  a  spray  of  purple  ironwort  with  his 
corn-cutter,  sticking  it  through  his  suspender  buckle. 

"I  think  that  would  be  more  fun  than  killin'  them.  If 
you're  a  dacint  shot,  and  your  gun  is  clane"  (Jimmy  re- 
membered the  crow  that  had  escaped  with  the  eggs  at 
soap-making),  "you  pretty  well  know  you're  goin'  to  bring 
down  anything  you  aim  at.  But  it  would  be  a  dandy  joke 
to  shell  a  little  corn  as  we  husk  it,  and  toll  all  the  quail 
into  Rainbow  Bottom,  and  then  kape  the  other  fellow? 
out.  Bedad!  Let's  do  it." 

Jimmy  addressed  the  quail : 

"Quailie,  quailie  on  the  fince, 

We  think  your  singin's  just  imminse. 
Stay  right  here,  and  live  with  us, 
And  the  fellow  that  shoots  you  will  strike  a  fuss." 

"We  can  protect  them  all  richt  enough,"  laughed  Dan- 
nie. "And  when  the  snow  comes  we  can  feed  Cardinals 
like  cheekens.  Wish  when  we  threshed,  we'd  saved  a  few 
sheaves  of  wheat.  They  do  that  in  Germany,  ye  know. 
The  last  sheaf  of  the  harvest  they  put  up  on  a  long  pole  at 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD  167 

Christmas,  as  a  thank-offering  to  the  birds  fra  their  care 
of  the  crops.  My  father  often  told  of  it." 

"That  would  be  great,"  said  Jimmy.  "Now  look  how 
domn  slow  you  are!  Why  didn't  you  mintion  it  at  har- 
vest? I'd  like  things  comin'  for  me  to  take  care  of  them. 
Gee!  Makes  me  feel  important  just  to  think  about  it. 
Nixt  year  we'll  do  it,  sure.  They'd  be  a  lot  of  company. 
A  man  could  work  in  this  field  to-day,  with  all  the  flowers 
around  him,  and  the  colours  of  the  leaves  like  a  garden, 
and  a  lot  of  birds  talkin'  to  him,  and  not  feel  afraid  of 
being  alone." 

"Afraid  ?"  quoted  Dannie,  in  amazement. 

For  an  instant  Jimmy  seemed  startled.  Then  his  love 
of  proving  his  point  arose.  "Yes,  afraid!"  he  repeated 
stubbornly.  "Afraid  of  being  away  from  the  sound  of  a 
human  voice,  because  whin  you  are,  the  voices  of  the  black 
divils  of  conscience  come  twistin'  up  from  the  ground  in  a 
little  wiry  whisper,  and  moanin'  among  the  trees,  and 
whistlin'  in  the  wind,  and  rollin'  in  the  thunder,  and  above 
all  in  the  dark  they  screech,  and  shout,  and  roar,  *  We're 
after  you,  Jimmy  Malone !  We've  almost  got  you,  Jimmy 
Malone!  You're  going  to  burn  in  hell,  Jimmy  Malone!" 

Jimmy  leaned  toward  Dannie,  beginning  in  a  low  voice, 
but  he  grew  so  excited  as  he  tried  to  picture  his  torture 
that  he  ended  in  a  scream,  and  even  then  Dannie's  horrified 
eyes  failed  to  recall  him.  Jimmy  straightened,  stared 
wildly  behind  him,  then  over  the  open,  hazy  field,  where 
flowers  bloomed,  birds  called,  and  the  long  rows  of  shocks 
stood  unconscious  spectators  of  the  strange  scene.  He 
lifted  his  hat,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  dripping 


168       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

face  with  the  sleeve  of  his  shirt,  and  as  oe  raised  his  arm, 
the  corn-cutter  flashed  in  the  light. 

"My  God,  it's  awful,  Dannie!  It's  so  awful,  I  can't 
begin  to  tell  you ! " 

Dannie's  face  was  ashen. 

"Jimmy,  dear  auld  fellow,"  he  said,  "how  long  has 
this  been  going  on  ? " 

"A  million  years,"  said  Jimmy,  shifting  the  corn-cutttc 
to  the  hand  that  held  his  hat,  that  he  might  moisten  his 
ringers  with  saliva  and  rub  it  across  his  parched  lips. 

"Jimmy,  dear,"  Dannie's  hand  was  on  Jimmy's  sleeve. 
"Have  ye  been  to  town  in  the  nicht,  or  anything  like  that 
lately?" 

"No,  Dannie,  dear,  I  ain't,"  sneered  Jimmy,  setting 
his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head  while  he  tested  the  corn- 
cutter  with  his  thumb.  "This  ain't  Casey's,  me  lad. 
I've  no  more  call  there,  at  this  minute,  than  you  have." 

"It  is  Casey's,  juist  the  same,"  said  Dannie  bitterly. 
"  Dinna  ye  know  the  end  of  this  sort  of  thing  ? " 

"No,  bedad,  I  don't!"  said  Jimmy.  "If  I  knew  any 
way  to  ind  it,  you  can  bet  I've  had  enough.  I'd  ind  it, 
if  I  knew  how.  But  the  railroad  wouldn't  be  the  ind. 
That  would  just  be  the  beginnin'.  Keep  close  to  me, 
Dannie,  and  talk,  for  mercy  sake,  talk!  Do  you  think 
we  can  finish  the  corn  by  noon  ? " 

"Let's  try!"  said  Dannie,  as  he  squared  his  shoulders 
to  adjust  them  to  his  new  load.  "Then  we'll  get  in  the 
r*umpkins  this  afternoon;  bury  the  potatoes,  cabbage  and 
turnips,  and  then  we're  aboot  fixed  fra  winter." 

"We  must  take  one  day,  and  gather  our  nuts,"  suggested 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD  169 

Jimmy,  struggling  to  make  his  voice  sound  natural,  "and 
you  forgot  the  apples.  We  must  bury  thim  too." 

"That's  so,"  said  Dannie,  "and  when  that's  over,  we'll 
hae  nothing  left  to  do  but  catch  the  Bass,  and  say  farewell 
to  the  Kingfisher." 

"I've  already  told  you  that  I  would  relave  you  of  all  re- 
sponsibility about  the  Bass,"  said  Jimmy,  "and  when  I  do, 
you  won't  need  trouble  to  make  your  adieus  to  the  King- 
fisher of  the  Wabash.  He'll  be  one  bird  that  won't  be 
migrating  this  winter." 

Dannie  tried  to  laugh.  "Fd  like  fall  as  much  as  any 
season  of  the  year,"  he  said,  "if  it  wasna  for  winter  coming 
next." 

"I  thought  you  liked  winter,  and  the  trampin'  in  the 
white  woods,  and  trapping  and  the  long  evenings  with  a 
book." 

"I  do,"  said  Dannie.  "I  must  have  been  thinkin'  of 
Mary.  She  hated  last  winter  so.  Of  course,  I  had  to  go 
home  when  ye  were  away,  and  the  nichts  were  so  long,  and 
so  cold,  and  mony  of  them  alone.  I  wonder  if  we  canna 
arrange  fra  one  of  her  sister's  girls  to  stay  with  her  this 
winter  ? " 

"What's  the  matter  with  me?"  asked  Jimmy. 

"Nothing,  if  only  ye'd  stay,"  answered  Dannie. 

"All  I'll  be  out  of  nights,  you  could  put  in  one  eye,"  said 
Jimmy.  "I  went  last  winter,  and  before,  because  whin 
they  clamoured  too  loud  I  could  be  drivin*  out  the  divils 
that  way,  for  a  while,  and  you  always  came  for  me,  but 
even  that  won't  be  stopping  it  now.  I  wouldn't  stick  my 
head  out  alone  after  dark,  not  if  I  was  dying'*' 


170       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

"Jimmy,  ye  never  felt  that  way  before,"  said  Dannie. 
"Tell  me  what  happened  this  summer  to  start  ye." 

"I've  done  a  domn  sight  of  faleing  that  you  didn't  know 
anything  about,"  answered  Jimmy.  "I  could  work  it  off 
at  Casey's  for  a  while,  but  this  summer  things  sort  of  came 
to  a  head,  and  I  saw  meself  for  fair,  and  before  God,  Dan- 
nie, I  didn't  like  me  looks." 

"Well,  then,  I  like  your  looks,"  said  Dannie.  "Ye  are 
the  best  company  I  ever  was  in.  Ye  are  the  only  mon  I 
ever  knew  that  I  cared  fra,  and  I  care  fra  ye  so  much,  I 
havna  the  way  to  tell  ye  how  much.  You're  possessed 
with  a  damn  fool  idea,  Jimmy,  and  ye  got  to  shake  it  off. 
Such  a  great-hearted,  big  mon  as  ye!  I  winna  have  it! 
There's  the  dinner  bell,  and  richt  glad  I  am  of  it!" 

That  afternoon  when  pumpkin  gathering  was  over  and 
Jimmy  had  invited  Mary  out  to  separate  the  "punk"  from 
the  pumpkins,  there  was  a  wagon-load  of  good  ones  they 
would  not  need  for  their  use.  Dannie  proposed  to  take 
them  to  town  and  sell  them.  To  his  amazement  Jimmy 
refused  to  go  along. 

"I  told  you  this  morning  that  Casey  wasn't  calling  me  at 
prisint,"  he  said,  "and  whin  I  am  not  called  I'd  best  not 
answer.  I  have  promised  Mary  to  top  the  onions  and 
bury  the  celery,  and  murder  the  bates." 

"Do  what  wi'  the  beets?"  inquired  the  puzzled  Dannie. 

"Kill  thim!  Kill  thim  stone  dead.  I'm  too  tinder- 
hearted  to  be  burying  anything  but  a  dead  bate,  Dannie. 
That's  a  thousand  years  old,  but  laugh,  like  I  knew  you 
would,  old  Ramphirinkus!  No,  thank  you,  I  don't  go  to 
townJ" 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD  171 

Then  Dannie  was  scared.  "He's  going  to  be  dreadfully 
seek  or  go  mad,"  he  said. 

So  he  drove  to  the  village,  sold  the  pumpkins,  filled 
Mary's  order  for  groceries,  and  then  went  to  the  doctor,  to 
ttl!  him  of  Jimmy's  latest  developments. 

'"It  is  the  drink,"  said  that  worthy  disciple  of  Esculap- 
ius.  "It's  the  drink!  In  time  it  makes  a  fool  sodden  and 
a  bright  man  mad.  Few  men  have  sufficient  brains  to  go 
crazy.  Jimmy  has.  He  must  stop  the  drink." 

On  the  street,  Dannie  encountered  Father  Michael. 
The  priest  stopped  him  to  shake  hands. 

"How's  Mary  Malone?"  he  asked. 

"She  is  quite  well  noo,"  answered  Dannie,  "but  she  is  na 
happy.  I  live  so  close,  and  see  so  much,  I  know.  I've 
thought  of  ye  lately.  I  have  thought  of  coming  to  see  ye. 
I'm  na  of  your  religion,  but  Mary  is,  and  what  suits  her  is 
guid  enough  for  me.  I've  tried  to  think  of  everything 
under  the  sun  that  might  help,  and  among  other  things  I've 
thought  of  ye.  Jimmy  was  confirmed  in  your  church,  and 
he  was  more  or  less  regular  up  to  his  marriage." 

"Less,  Mr.  Macnoun,  much  less!"  said  the  priest. 
"  Since,  not  at  all.  Why  do  you  ask  ? " 

"He  is  sick,"  said  Dannie.  "He  drinks  a  guid  deal. 
He  has  been  reckless  abobt  sleeping  on  the  ground,  and  noo, 
if  ye  will  make  this  confidential  ? " — the  priest  nodded — 
"he  is  talking  aboot  sleeping  on  the  railroad,  and  he's 
having  delusions.  There  are  devils  after  him.  He  is  the 
finest  fellow  ye  ever  knew,  Father  Michael.  We've  been 
friends  all  our  lives.  Ye  have  had  much  expedience  with 
men,  and  it  ought  to  count  fra  something.  From  all  ye 


i/2       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

know,  and  what  I've  told  ye,  could  his  trouble  be  cured  as 
the  doctor  suggests?*' 

The  priest  did  a  queer  thing.  "You  know  him  as  no 
living  man,  Dannie,"  he  said.  "What  do  you  think?" 

Dannie's  big  hands  slowly  opened  and  closed.  Then  he 
fell  to  polishing  the  nails  of  one  hand  on  the  palm  of  che 
other.  At  last  he  answered,  "If  ye'd  asked  me  that  this 
time  last  year,  I'd  have  said  'it's  the  drink,'  at  a  jump. 
But  times  this  summer,  this  morning,  for  instance,  when  he 
hadna  a  drop  in  three  weeks,  and  dinna  want  ane,  when  he 
could  have  come  wis  me  to  town,  and  wouldna,  and  there 
were  devils  calling  him  from  the  ground,  and  the  trees,  and 
the  sky,  out  in  the  open  cornfield,  it  looked  bad." 

The  priest's  eyes  were  boring  into  Dannie's  sick  face. 

"How  did  it  look?"  he  asked  briefly. 

"It  looked,"  said  Dannie,  and  his  voice  dropped  to  a 
whisper,  "it  looked  like  he  might  carry  a  damned  ugly 
secret,  that  it  would  be  better  fra  him  if  ye,  at  least, 
knew." 

"And  the  nature  of  that  secret?" 

Dannie  shook  his  head. 

"Couldna  give  a  guess  at  it!  Known  him  all  his  life. 
My  only  friend.  Always  been  togither.  Square  a  mon  as 
God  ever  made.  There's  na  fault  in  him,  if  he'd  let  drink 
alone.  Got  more  faith  in  him  than  any  ane  I  ever  knew. 
I  wouldna  trust  mon  on  God's  footstool,  if  I  had  to  lose 
faith  in  Jimmy.  Come  to  think  of  it,  that  'secret'  busi- 
ness is  all  old  woman's  scare.  The  drink  is  telling  on  him. 
If  only  he  could  be  cured  of  that  awful  weakness,  all  heaven 
would  come  down  and  settle  in  Rainbow  Bottom." 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD  173 

They  shook  hands  and  parted  without  Dannie  realizing 
that  he  had  told  all  he  knew  while  he  had  learned  nothing. 
Then  he  entered  the  post  office  for  the  weekly  mail.  He 
called  for  Malone's  papers  also,  and  with  them  came  a  slip 
from  the  express  office  notifying  Jimmy  there  was  a  pack- 
age for  him.  Dannie  went  to  see  if  they  would  let  him 
have  it.  As  Jimmy  lived  in  the  country,  and  as  they  were 
known  to  be  partners,  Dannie  was  allowed  to  sign  the  book, 
and  carry  away  a  long,  slender,  wooden  box,  with  a  Boston 
tag. 

The  Thread  Man  had  sent  Jimmy  a  present.  From  the 
appearance  of  the  box,  Dannie  made  up  his  mind  that  it 
was  a  cane. 

Straightway  he  drove  home  at  a  scandalous  rate  of 
speed.  On  the  way,  he  dressed  Jimmy  in  a  broadcloth 
suit,  patent  leathers,  and  a  silk  hat.  Then  he  took  him  to 
a  gold  cure,  where  he  learned  to  abhor  whiskey  in  a  week, 
then  to  the  priest,  to  whom  he  confessed  that  he  had  lied 
about  the  number  of  coons  in  the  Canoper. 

So  peace  brooded  in  Rainbow  Bottom,  and  all  of  them 
were  happy  again.  For  with  the  passing  of  summer,  Dan- 
nie had  learned  that  heretofore  there  had  been  happiness 
of  a  sort,  for  them,  and  that  if  they  could  all  return  to  the 
old  footing  it  would  be*  well,  or  at  least  far  better  than  at 
present.  With  Mary's  tongue  dripping  gall,  her  sweet 
face  souring,  and  Jimmy  hearing  devils,  no  wonder  poor 
Dannie  overheated  his  team  in  a  race  to  carry  a  package 
that  promised  to  furnish  some  diversion. 

Jimmy  and  Mary  heard  the  racket,  and  standing  en  the 
celery  hill,  they  saw  Dannie  come  clatterine  uo  the  lane. 


174       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

When  he  noticed  them,  he  stood  in  the  wagon,  waving  the 
package  over  his  head. 

Jimmy  straightened  with  a  flourish,  stuck  the  spade  in 
the  celery  hill,  and  descended  with  great  deliberation. 

"I  mintioned  to  Dannie  this  morning,"  he  said,  "that 
it  was  about  time  I  was  hearin'  from  the  Thrid  Man," 

"Oh!  Do  you  suppose  it  is  something  from  Boston?'* 
The  eagerness  in  Mary's  voice  made  it  sound  almost  girlish 
again. 

"Hunt  the  hatchet!"  ordered  Jimmy,  walking  very 
leisurely  into  the  cabin. 

Dannie  was  visibly  excited  as  he  entered.  "I  think  ye 
have  heard  from  the  Thread  Mon,"  he  said,  handing 
Jimmy  the  package. 

Jimmy  took  it,  examining  it  carefully.  He  never  be- 
fore in  his  life  had  an  express  package,  the  contents  of 
which  he  did  not  know.  It  behooved  him  to  get  all  there 
was  out  of  the  pride  and  the  joy  of  it. 

Mary  laid  down  the  hatchet  so  closely  it  touched 
Jimmy's  hand,  to  remind  him.  "Now  what  do  you  sup- 
pose he  has  sent  you?"  she  inquired  eagerly,  her  hand 
straying  toward  the  package. 

Jimmy  tested  the  box.  "  It  don't  weigh  much,"  he  said, 
"but  one  end  of  it's  the  heaviest." 

He  set  the  hatchet  in  a  tiny  crack,  with  one  rip  stripping 
off  the  cover.  Inside  lay  a  long,  brown  leather  case,  with 
small  buckles,  and  in  one  end  a  little  leather  case,  flat  on 
one  side,  rounding  on  the  other,  and  it,  too,  fastened  with 
a  buckle. 

Jimmy  caught  sight  of  a  paper  book  folded  in  the  bottom 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD  175 

of  the  box,  as  he  lifted  the  case.  With  trembling  fingers 
he  unfastened  the  buckles,  and  disclosed  a  cover  of  leather, 
sewn  in  four  divisions,  from  top  to  bottom,  and  from  the/ 
largest  of  these  protruded  a  shining  object.  Jimmy  caught 
this,  and  began  to  draw,  while  the  shine  began  to  lengthen. 

"Just  what  I  thought!"  exclaimed  Dannie.  "He's 
sent  ye  a  fine  cane." 

"A  hint  to  kape  out  of  the  small  of  his  back  the  nixt 
time  he  goes  promenadin'  on  a  cow-kitcher!  The  divil!" 
exploded  Jimmy. 

His  quick  eyes  had  caught  a  word  on  the  cover  of  tb^ 
little  book  in  the  bottom  of  the  box. 

"A  cane!  A  cane!  Look  at  that,  will  ye?"  He 
flashed  six  inches  of  grooved  silvery  handle  before  their 
faces,  then  three  feet  of  shining  black  steel,  scarcely 
thicker  than  a  lead  pencil.  "Cane!"  he  cried  scornfully. 
Then  he  picked  up  the  box,  and  opening  it  drew  out  a  little 
machine  that  shone  like  a  silver  watch,  and  setting  it 
ag?inst  the  handle,  slipped  a  small  slide  over  each  end,  so 
it  held  firmly,  and  shone  bravely. 

"Oh,  Jimmy,  what  is  it  ? "  cried  Mary. 

"Me  cane!"  answered  Jimmy.  "Me  new  cane  from 
Boston.  Didn't  you  hear  Dannie  sayin'  what  it  was? 
This  little  arrangemint  i$  my  cicly-meter,  like  they  put  on 
wheels,  and  buggies  now,  to  tell  how  far  you've  travelled. 
The  way  this  works,  I  just  tie  this  silk  thrid  to  me  door 
knob  and  off  I  walks,  it  a  reeling  out  behind,  and  whin  I 
turn  back  it  takes  up  as  I  come,  and  whin  I  get  home  I 
take  the  yardstick  and  measure  me  string,  and  be  the  same- 
token,  it  tells  me  how  far  I've  travelled."  As  he  talked  he 


176         AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

drew  out  another  shining  length  and  added  it  tc  the  first, 
then  another  and  a  last,  fine  as  a  wheat  straw.  "These 
last  jints  I'm  adding,"  he  explained  to  Mary,  "are  so  that 
if  I  have  me  cane  whin  I'm  riding  I  can  stritch  it  out  and 
touch  up  me  horses  with  it.  And  betimes,  if  I  should  iver 
break  me  old  cane  fish  pole,  I  could  take  this  down  to  the 
river,  and  there,  the  books  call  it  'whipping  the  water/ 
See!  Cane,  begorra!  It's  the  Jim-dandiest  little  fishing 
rod  anybody  in  these  parts  iver  set  eyes  on.  Lord!  What 
a  beauty!" 

He  turned  to  Dannie  shaking  the  shining,  slender  thing 
before  his  envious  eyes. 

"Who  gets  the  Black  Bass  now?"  he  triumphed  in  tone* 
of  utter  conviction. 

There  is  no  use  in  taking  time  to  explain  to  any  fisher- 
man who  has  read  thus  far  that  Dannie,  the  patient; 
Dannie,  the  long-suffering,  felt  abused.  How  would  you 
have  felt  yourself? 

"The  Thread  Man  might  have  sent  twa,"  was  his 
thought.  "The  only  decent  treatment  he  got  that  nicht 
was  frae  me,  and  if  I'd  let  Jimmy  hit  him,  he'd  gone 
through  the  wall.  But  there  never  is  anything  fra  me! " 

That  was  true.    There  never  was. 

Aloud  he  said:  "Dinna  bother  to  hunt  the  steelyards, 
Mary.  We  winna  weigh  it  until  he  brings  it  home." 

"Yes,  and  by  gum,  I'll  bring  it  v/ith  this!  Look,  here 
is  a  picture  of  a  man  in  a  boat,  pullin'  in  a  whale  with  a  pole 
just  like  this,"  bragged  Jimmy. 

"Yes,"  said  Dannie.  "That's  what  it's  made  for :  a  boat 
and  open  water.  If  ye  are  going  to  fish  wi'  that  thing 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD  177 

along  the  river  we'll  have  to  cut  doon  all  the  trees,  and 
that  will  dry  up  the  water.  That's  na  for  river  fishing." 

Jimmy  was  intently  studying  the  book.  Mary  tried  to 
take  the  rod  from  his  hand. 

"Let  be!  "he  cried,  hanging  on.     "You'll  break  it!"       j 

"I  guess  steel  don't  break  so  easy,"  she  said  aggrievedly. 
"I  just  wanted  to  'heft'  it." 

"Light  as  a  feather,"  boasted  Jimmy.  "Fish  all  day 
and  it  won't  tire  a  man  at  all.  Dene — unjoint  it  and  put 
it  in  its  case,  and  not  go  dragging  up  everything  along  the 
bank  like  a  living  stump-puller.  This  book  says  this  line 
will  bear  twinty  pounds  pressure,  and  sometimes  it's  taken 
an  hour  to  tire  out  a  fish,  if  it's  a  fighter.  I  bet  you  the 
Black  Bass  is  a  fighter,  from  what  we  know  of  him." 

"Ye  can  watch  me  land  him  and  see  what  ye  think 
about  it,"  suggested  Dannie. 

Jimmy  held  the  book  with  one  hand,  lightly  waving  the 
rod  with  the  other  in  a  way  that  would  have  developed 
nerves  in  an  Indian.  He  laughed  absently. 

"With  me  shootin'  bait  all  over  his  pool  with  this?" 
he  asked.  "  I  guess  not ! " 

"But  you  can't  fish  for  the  Bass  with  that,  Jimmy  Ma- 
lone,"  cried  Mary  hotly.  "You  agreed  to  fish  fair  for 
the  Bass,  and  it  wouldn't  be  fair  for  you  to  use  that,  whin 
Dannie  only  has  his  old  cane  pole.  Dannie,  buy  you  a 
steel  pole,  too,"  she  begged. 

"If  Jimmy  is  going  to  fish  with  that,  there  will  be  all 
the  more  glory  in  taking  the  Bass  from  him  with  the  pole 
I  have,"  answered  Dannie. 

"You  keep  out,"  cried  Jimmy  angrily  to  Mary.     "It 


178       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

was  a  fair  bargain.  He  made  it  himself.  Each  man  was 
to  fish  surface  or  deep,  and  with  his  own  pole  and  bait.  I 
guess  this  is  my  pole,  ain't  it  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  Mary.  "But  it  wasn't  yours  whin  you 
•nade  that  agreemint.  You  very  well  know  Dannie  ex- 
'pected  you  to  fish  with  the  same  kind  of  pole  and  bait 
that  he  did;  didn't  you,  Dannie?" 

"Yes,"  said  Dannie,  "I  did:  because  I  never  dreamed 
of  him  havin'  any  other.  But  since  he  has  it,  I  think  he's 
in  his  rights  if  he  fishes  with  it.  I  dinna  care.  In  the 
first  place  he  will  only  scare  the  Bass  away  from  him  with 
the  racket  that  reel  will  make,  and  in  the  second,  if  he 
tries  to  land  it  with  that  thing,  he  will  smash  it,  and  lose 
the  fish.  There's  a  long-handled  net  to  land  things  with 
that  goes  with  those  rods.  He'd  better  sent  ye  one.  Now 
you'll  have  to  jump  into  the  river  and  land  a  fish  by  hand 
if  ye  hook  it." 

"That's  true!"  cried  Mary.     "Here's  one  in  a  picture." 

She  had  snatched  the  book  from  Jimmy.  He  snatched 
it  back. 

"Be  careful,  you'll  tear  that!"  he  cried.  "I  was  just 
going  to  say  that  I  would  get  some  fine  wire  or  mosquito 
bar  and  make  one." 

Dannie's  fingers  were  itching  to  take  the  rod,  if  only 
for  an  instant.  He  looked  at  it  longingly.  But  Jimmy 
was  impervious.  He  whipped  it  softly  and  eagerly  read 
from  the  book. 

"Tells  here  about  a  man  takin*  a  fish  that  weighed 
forty  pounds  with  a  po]e  just  like  this,"  he  announced. 
"Scat!  Jumpin*  Jehosophat!  What  do  you  think  of  that!" 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD  179 

"Couldn't  you  fish  turn  about  with  it?"  inquired  Mary. 

"Na,  we  couldna  fish  turn  about  with  it,"  answered 
Dannie.  "Na  with  that  pole.  Jimmy  would  throw  a 
fit  if  anybody  else  touched  it.  And  he's  welcome  to  it. 
He  never  in  this  world  will  catch  the  Black  Bass  with  it. 
If  I  only  had  some  way  to  put  juist  fifteen  feet  more  line 
on  my  pole,  I'd  show  him  how  to  take  the  Bass  to-morrow.j 
The  way  we  always  have  come  to  lose  it  is  with  too  short, 
lines.  We  have  to  try  to  land  it  before  it's  tired  out  and 
it's  strong  enough  to  break  and  tear  away.  It  must  have 
ragged  jaws  and  a  dozen  pieces  of  line  hanging  to  it,  fra 
both  of  us  have  hooked  it  time  and  again.  When  it  strikes 
me,  if  I  only  could  give  it  fifteen  feet  more  line,  I  could 
land  it." 

"Can't  you  fix  some  way?"  asked  Mary. 

"I'll  try,"  answered  Dannie. 

"And  in  the  manetime,  I'd  just  be  givin'  it  twinty  off 
me  dandy  little  reel,  and  away  goes  me  with  Mr.  Bass," 
said  Jimmy.  "I  must  take  it  to  town  and  have  its  picture 
took  to  sind  the  Thrid  Man." 

That  was  the  last  straw.  Dannie  had  given  up  being 
allowed  to  touch  the  rod;  he  was  on  his  way  to  unhitch  his 
team  and  begin  the  evening  work.  The  day  had  been 
trying.  For  the  moment  everything  culminated  in  the 
fact  that  his  longing  fingers  had  not  touched  that  beautiful 
fishing  rod. 

"The  Boston  man  forgot  another  thing,"  he  said.  "The 
Dude  who  shindys  'round  with  those  things  in  pictures, 
wears  a  damn,  dinky,  little  pleated  coat!" 


WHEN  THE  BLACK  BASS  STRUCK 


CHAPTER  Vin 
WHEN  THE  BLACK  BASS  STRUCK 

"Lots  of  fish  down  in  the  brook, 
All  you  need  is  a  rod,  and  a  line,  and  a  hook/' 

HUMMED  Jimmy,   still  lovingly  fingering  his 
possessions. 
"Did  Dannie  iver  say  a  thing  like  that  to  you 
before?*"  asked  Mary. 

"Oh,  he's  dead  sore,"  explained  Jimmy.  "Rethinks 
he  should  have  had  a  jinted  rod,  too." 

"And  so  he  should,"  replied  Mary.  "You  said  yoursilf 
that  you  might  have  killed  that  man  if  Dannie  hadn't, 
showed  you  that  you  were  wrong." 

"You  must  think  stuff  like  this  is  got  at  the  tin-cmt 
store,"  said  Jimmy. 

"Oh,  no  I  don't!"  said  Mary.  "I  expect  it  cost  three 
or  four  dollars." 

"Three  or  four  dollars,"  sneered  Jimmy.  "All  the  sinse 
a  woman  has !  Feast  your  eyes  on  this  book  and  rade  that 
just  this  little  reel  alone  cost  fifteen,  so  there's  no  telling 
what  the  rod  is  worth.  Why  it's  turned  right  out  of  pure 
steel,  same  as  if  it  were  wood.  Look  for  yoursilf." 

"Thanks,  no!  Fm  most  afraid  to  touch  it,"  said 
Mary. 

"Oh,  you  are  sore  too!"  toughed  Jimmy.     "With  all 

183 


i84       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

that  money  in  it,  I  should  think  you  could  see  why  I 
wouldn't  want  it  broke." 

"You've  sat  there  and  whipped  it  around  for  an  hour. 
Would  it  break  it  for  me  or  Dannie  to  do  the  same  thing? 
If  it  had  been  his,  you'd  have  had  a  worm  on  it  and  been 
down  to  the  river  trying  it  for  him  by  now." 

"Worm!"  scoffed  Jimmy.  "A  worm!  That's  a  good 
one!  Idjit!  You  don't  fish  with  worms  with  a  jinted  rod." 

"  Well  what  do  you  fish  with  ?     Humming  birds  ? " 

"No.  You  fish  with "  Jimmy  stopped  and  eyed 

Mary  dubiously.  "You  fish  with  a  lot  of  things,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  Some  of  thim  come  in  little  books  and  they  look 
like  moths,  and  some  like  snake-faders,  and  some  of  them 
are  buck-tail  and  bits  of  tin,  painted  to  look  shiny.  Once 
there  was  a  man  in  town  who  had  a  minnie  made  of  mbber 
and  all  painted  up  just  like  life.  There  were  hooks  on  its 
head,  and  on  its  back,  and  its  belly,  and  its  tail,  so's  that  if 
a  fish  snapped  at  it  anywhere  it  got  hooked." 

"I  should  say  so!"  exclaimed  Mary.  "It's  no  fair  way 
to  fish,  to  use  more  than  one  hook.  You  might  just  as 
well  take  a  net  and  wade  in  and  seine  out  the  fish  as  to  take 
a  lot  of  hooks  and  rake  thim  out." 

"Well,  who's  going  to  'take  a  lot  of  hooks  and  rake  thim 
out?'" 

"I  didn't  say  anybody  was.  I  was  just  saying  it 
wouldn't  be  fair  to  the  fish  if  they  did." 

'"Course  I  wouldn't  fish  with  no  riggin'  like  tr-at,  when 
Dannie  only  has  one  old  hook.  Whin  we  fish  for  the  Bass, 
I  won't  use  but  one  hook  either.  All  the  same,  I'm  going 
to  have  some  of  those  fancy  baits.  I'm  gping  to  get  Jim 


WHEN  THE  BLACK  BASS  STRUCK       185 

Skeels  at  the  drug  store  to  order  thina  for  me.  I  know 
Just  kow  you  do,"  said  Jimmy,  flourishing  the  rod.  "You 
put  GO  your  bait  and  quite  a  heavy  sinker,  and  you  wind 
it  up  to  the  ind  of  your  rod,  and  thin  you  stand  up  in  your 

boat " 

"Stand  up  in  your  boat!" 

"I  wish  you'd  let  me  finish! — or  on  the  bank,  and  you 
take  this  little  whipper-snapper,  and  you  touch  the  spot 
on  the  reel  that  relases  the  thrid,  and  you  give  the  rod  a 
little  toss,  aisy  as  throwin'  away  chips,  and  off  maybe  fifty 
feet  your  bait  hits  the  water,  'spat!'  and  'snap!'  goes  Mr. 
Bass,  and  'stick!'  goes  the  hook.  See?" 

"What  I  see  is  that  if  you  want  to  fish  that  way  in  the 
Wabash,  you'll  have  to  wait  until  the  dredge  goes  through 
and  they  make  a  canal  out  of  it;  for  be  the  time  you'd 
throwed  fifty  feet,  and  your  fish  had  run  another  fifty, 
there'd  be  just  one  hundred  snags,  and  logs,  and  stumps  be- 
tween you;  one  for  every  foot  of  the  way.  It  must  look 
pretty  on  deep  water,  where  it  can  be  done  right,  but  I  bet 
anything  that  if  you  go  to  fooling  with  that  on  our  river^ 
Dannie  gets  the  Bass." 

"Not  much,  Dannie  don't  'gets  the  Bass,'"  said  Jimmy 
confidently.  "Just  you  come  out  here  and  let  me  show  you 
how  this  works.  Now  you  see,  I  put  me  sinker  on  the  ind 
of  the  thrid,  no  hook  of  course,  for  practice,  and  I  touch 
this  little  spring  here,  and  give  me  little  rod  a  whip  and 
away  goes  me  bait,  slick  as  grase.  Mr.  Bass  is  layin*  in 
thim  bass  weeds  right  out  there,  foreninst  the  pie-plant 
bed,  and  the  bait  strikes  the  water  at  the  idge,  see!  and 
'snap,'  he  takes  it  and  sails  off  slow,  to  swally  it  at  leisure 


i86       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

Here's  where  I  don't  pull  a  morsel.  Jist  let  him  rin  and 
swally,  and  whin  me  line  is  well  out  and  he  has  me  bait  all 
digistid,  'yank,'  I  give  him  the  round-up,  and  thiny  the  fun 
begins.  He  leps  clear  of  the  water  and  I  see  he's  tin  pound. 
If  he  rins  from  me,  I  give  him  rope,  and  if  he  rins  to,  I  dig 
gn,  workin*  me  little  machane  for  dear  life  to  take  up  the 
fchrid  before  it  slacks.  Whin  he  sees  me,  he  makes  a  dash 
back,  and  I  just  got  to  relase  me  line  and  let  him  go,  be- 
cause he'd  bust  this  little  silk  thrid  all  to  thunder  if  I  tried 
io  force  him  onpleasant  to  his  intintions,  and  so  we  kape  it 
up  until  he's  plum  wore  out  and  comes  a  promenadin'  up  to 
me  boat,  bank  I  mane,  and  I  scoops  him  in,  and  that's 
sport,  Mary!  That's  man's  fishin'!  Now  watch!  He's 
in  thim  bass  weeds  before  the  pie-plant  like  I  said,  and 
I'm  here  on  the  bank,  and  I  think  he's  there,  so  I  give  me 
little  jinted  rod  a  whip  and  a  swing " 

Jimmy  gave  the  rod  a  whip  and  a  swing.  The  sinker 
shot  in  air,  struck  the  limb  of  an  apple  tree  and  wound  a 
dozen  times  around  it.  Jimmy  said  things  and  Mary 
giggled.  She  also  noticed  that  Dannie  had  stopped  work 
and  was  standing  in  the  bam  door  watching  intently. 
Jimmy  climbed  the  tree,  unwound  the  line  and  tried 
again. 

"I  didn't  notice  that  domn  apple  limb  sticking  out 
there,"  he  said.  "Now  you  watch!  Right  out  there 
among  the  bass  weeds  foreninst  the  pie-plant " 

To  avoid  another  limb,  Jimmy  aimed  too  low  so  the 
sinker  shot  under  the  well  platform  not  ten  feet  from  him. 

"Lucky  you  didn't  get  fast  in  the  bass  weeds,"  said 
Mary  as  Jimmy  reeled  itL 


WHEN  THE  BLACK  BASS  STRUCK       18; 

"Will,  I  got  to  get  me  range,**  explained  Jimmy.  "This 
time " 

Jimmy  swung  too  high.  The  spring  slipped  from  under 
his  unaccustomed  thumb.  The  sinker  shot  above  and  be- 
hind him,  becoming  entangled  in  the  eaves,  while  yards  of 
the  fine  silk  line  flew  off  the  spinning  reel  dropping  in 
tangled  masses  at  his  feet.  In  an  effort  to  do  something 
Jimmy  reversed  the  reel,  then  wound  back  on  tangles  and 
all  until  it  became  completely  clogged.  Mary  had  sat 
down  on  the  back  steps  to  watch  the  exhibition.  Now,  she 
stood  up  to  laugh. 

"And  that's  just  what  will  happen  to  you  at  the  rnrer,** 
she  said.  "While  you  are  foolin'  with  that  thing,  which 
ain't  for  rivers,  and  which  you  don't  know  beans  about 
handlin',  Dannie  will  haul  in  the  Bass,  and  serve  you  right, 
too!" 

"Mary,"  said  Jimmy,  "I  niver  struck  ye  in  all  me  life, 
but  if  ye  don't  go  in  the  house,  and  shut  up,  I'll  knock  the 
head  off  ye!" 

"  I  wouldn't  be  advisin'  you  to,"  she  said.  "  Dannie  is 
watching  you." 

Jimmy  glanced  toward  the  barn  in  time  to  see  Dannie's 
shaking  shoulders  as  he  turned  from  the  door.  With  un* 
expected  patience,  he  firmly  closed  his  lips  and  went  to 
bring  a  ladder.  By  the  rime  he  had  the  sinker  loose  and 
the  line  untangled,  supper  was  ready.  By  the  time  he  had 
mastered  the  reel,  and  could  land  the  sinker  accurately  m 
front  of  various  imaginary  beds  of  bass  weeds,  Dannie  had 
finished  the  night  work  in  both  stables  and  gone  home. 
But  his  back  door  stood  open  and  therefrom  protruded  the 


i88       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

point  of  a  longj  heavy  cane  fish  pole.  By  the  light  of  a 
lamp  on  his  table,  Dannie  could  be  seen  working  with 
pincers  and  a  ball  of  wire. 

"I  wonder  what  he  thinks  he  can  do?"  said  Jimmy. 

"I  suppose  he  is  trying  to  fix  some  way  to  get  that 
fifteen  feet  more  line  he  needs,"  replied  Mary. 

When  they  went  to  bed  the  light  still  burned  while  the 
broad  shoulders  of  Dannie  bent  over  the  pole.  Mary  had 
fallen  asleep,  but  she  was  awakened  by  Jimmy  slipping 
from  bed.  He  went  to  the  window  to  look  toward  Dan* 
flic's  cabin.  Then  he  left  the  bedroom  and  she  could  hear 
him  crossing  to  the  back  window  of  the  next  room.  Then 
came  a  smothered  laugh  and  he  softly  called  her.  She 
went  to  him. 

Dannie's  figure  stood  out  clear  and  strong  in  the  moon* 
light,  in  his  wood-yard.  His  black  outline  looked  unusu- 
ally powerful  in  the  silvery  whiteness  surrounding  it. 

He  held  his  fishing  pole  in  both  hands  and  swept  a  circle 
around  him  that  would  have  required  considerable  space 
on  Lake  Michigan,  making  a  cast  toward  the  barn.  The 
line  ran  out  smoothly  and  evenly,  while  through  the  gloom 
Mary  saw  Jimmy's  figure  straighten  and  his  lips  close  in 
surprise.  Then  Dannie  began  taking  in  line.  That  proc- 
ess was  so  slow,  Jimmy  doubled  up  and  laughed  again. 

"Be  lookin'  at  that,  will  ye?"  he  heaved.  "What  does 
the  domn  fool  think  the  Black  Bass  will  be  doin'  while  he  is 
takin'  in  line  on  that  young  windlass  ? " 

"There'd  be  no  room  on  the  river  to  do  that,"  answered 
Mary  serenely.  "Dannie  wouldn't  be  so  foolish  as  to  try. 
All  he  wants  now  is  to  see  if  his  line  will  run,  and  it  will, 


WHEN  THE  BLACK  BASS  STRUCK       189 

Whin  he  gets  to  the  river,  he'll  swing  his  bait  where  he 
wants  it  with  his  pole,  like  he  always  does,  and  whin  the 
Bass  strikes  he'll  give  it  the  extra  fifteen  feet  more  line  he 
said  he  needed,  and  thin  he'll  have  a  pole  and  line  with 
which  he  can  land  it." 

"Not  on  your  life  he  won't!"  said  Jimmy. 

He  opened  the  back  door,  stepping  out  as  Dannie  raised 
the  pole  again. 

"Hey,  you!  Quit  raisin*  Cain  out  there!"  yelled 
Jimmy.  "I  want  to  get  some  sleep." 

Across  the  night,  tinged  neither  with  chagrin  nor  rancour^ 
boomed  the  big  voice  of  Dannie:  "Believe  I  have  my 
extra  line  fixed  so  it  works  all  right.  Awful  sorry  if  I 
waked  you.  Thought  I  was  quiet." 

"How  much  did  you  make  ofF  that?"  inquired  Mary. 

"Two  points,"  answered  Jimmy.  "Found  out  that 
Dannie  ain't  sore  at  me  any  longer  and  that  you  are." 

The  morning  was  no  sort  of  angler's  weather,  but  the 
afternoon  gave  promise  of  being  good  fishing  by  the  mof- 
row.  Dannie  worked  on  the  farms,  preparing  for  winter; 
Jimmy  worked  with  him  until  mid-afternoon,  then  he 
called  a  boy  passing,  and  they  went  away  together.  At 
supper  time  Jimmy  had  not  returned. 

Mary  came  to  where  Dannie  worked. 

" Where's  Jimmy?"  she  asked. 

*  I  dinna  know,"  said  Dannie.  "He  went  away  a  while 
ago  with  some  boy,  I  didna  notice  who." 

"And  he  didn't  tell  you  where  he  was  going?" 

"No." 

"And  he  didn't  take  either  of  his  fish  poles?" 


190       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

"No." 

Mary's    lips    thinned    to    a    mere    line.     "Then 
Casey's,'*  she  said,  and  turned  away. 

Dannie  was  silent.     Presently  Mary  came  back. 

"If  Jimmy  doesn't  come  till  morning,"  she  asked,  "or 
comes  in  shape  that  he  can't  fish,  will  you  go  without 
him?" 

"To-morrow  was  the  day  we  agreed  on,"  answered 
Dannie. 

"Will  you  go  without  him?"  persisted  Mary. 

"What  would  he  do  if  it  were  me?"  asked  Dannie. 

"When  have  you  iver  done  to  Jimmy  Malone  what  he 
would  do  if  he  were  you  ? " 

"Is  there  any  reason  why  ye  na  want  me  to  land  the 
Black  Bass,  Mary?" 

"There  is  a  particular  reason  why  I  don't  want  your 
living  with  Jimmy  to  make  you  like  him,"  answered  Mary. 
"My  timper  is  being  ruined,  and  I  can  see  where  it's  be- 
ginning to  show  on  you.  Whativer  you  do,  don't  do  what 
he  would." 

**Dinna  be  hard  on  him,  Mary.  He  doesna  think," 
urged  Dannie. 

"You  niver  said  truer  words.  He  doesn't  think.  He 
niver  thought  about  anybody  in  his  life  except  himself, 
and  he  niver  will." 

"Maybe  he  didna  go  to  town!" 

"Maybe  the  sun  won't  rise  in  the  morning,  and  it  will 
always  be  dark  after  this  I  Come  in  and  eat  your  supper. ." 

"  I'd  best  pick  up  something  to  eat  at  home,"  said  Dan- 
nie. 


WHEN  THE  BLACK  BASS  STRUCK       191 

"I  hare  some  good  food  cooked,  so  it's  a  pity  to  be 
threwin*  it  away.  What's  the  use?  You've  done  a  long 
day's  work,  more  for  us  than  yoursilf,  as  usual;  come  along 
and  have  your  supper." 

Dannie  went.  While  he  was  washing  at  the  back  door, 
Jimmy  came  through  the  barn,  and  up  the  walk.  He  was 
fresh,  and  in  such  fine  spirits,  that  wherever  he  had  been, 
it  was  surely  not  Casey's. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  asked  Mary  wonderingly. 

"Robbin'  graves,"  answered  Jimmy  promptly.  "I 
needed  a  few  stiffs  in  me  business  so  I  just  went  out  to 
Five  Mile  and  got  them." 

"What  are  ye  going  to  do  with  them,  Jimmy?"  chuckled 
Dannie, 

"Use  thim  for  Bass  bait!  Now  rattle,  old  snake!"  re- 
plied Jimmy. 

After  supper  Dannie  went  to  the  barn  for  the  shovel 
to  dig  worms  for  bait.  He  noticed  that  Jimmy's  rubber 
waders  hanging  on  the  wall  were  covered  almost  to  the 
top  with  fresh  mud  and  water  stains,  and  Dannie's  wonder 
grew. 

Early  the  next  morning  they  started  to  the  river.  As 
usual  Jimmy  led  the  way.  He  proudly  carried  his  new 
rod.  Dannie  followed  with  a  basket  of  lunch  Mary  had 
insisted  on  packing,  his  big  cane  pole,  a  can  of  worms,  and 
a  shovel,  in  case  they  ran  out  of  bait. 

Dannie  had  recovered  his  temper;  he  was  great-hearted, 
big  Dannie  again.  He  talked  about  the  south  wind, 
shivered  with  the  frost,  and  listened  for  the  splash  of  the 
Bass.  Jimmy  had  little  to  say.  He  seemed  to  be  thinking 


192       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

deeply.  No  doubt  he  felt  in  his  soul  that  they  should  set, 
tie  the  question  of  who  landed  the  Bass  with  the  same  rods 
they  had  used  when  the  contest  was  proposed,  nor  was 
that  all. 

When  they  came  to  the  temporary  bridge,  Jimmy  started 
across  it,  but  Dannie  called  to  him  to  wait,  he  was  for- 
getting his  worms. 

"I  don't  want  any  worms,"  answered  Jimmy  briefly. 
He  walked  on.  Dannie  stood  staring  after  him,  for  he  did 
not  understand  that.  Then  he  went  slowly  to  his  side  of 
the  river,  and  deposited  his  load  under  a  tree  where  it 
would  be  out  of  the  way. 

He  laid  down  his  pole,  took  a  rude  wooden  spool  of 
heavy  fish  cord  from  his  pocket,  passed  the  line  through 
the  loop  next  the  handle  and  so  on  the  length  of  the  rod  to 
the  point.  Then  hb  wired  on  a  sharp  bass  hook,  and 
wound  the  wire  far  up  the  doubled  line.  As  he  worked, 
he  kept  watching  Jimmy.  He  was  doing  practically  the 
same  thing.  But  just  as  Dannie  had  fastened  on  a  light 
lead  to  carry  his  line,  a  souse  in  the  river  opposite  attracted 
his  attention.  Jimmy  hauled  from  the  water  a  minnow 
bucket,  and  opening  it,  took  out  a  live  minnow,  and  placed 
it  on  his  hook.  "Riddy,"  he  called,  as  he  resank  the 
bucket,  then  stood  on  the  bank,  holding  his  line  in  his 
fingers,  watching  the  minnow  play  at  his  feet. 

The  fact  that  Dannie  was  a  Scotsman,  and  unusually 
slow  and  patient,  did  not  alter  the  fact  that  he  was  a  com- 
mon human  being.  The  lump  that  arose  in  his  throat  was 
so  big,  and  so  hard,  he  did  not  try  to  swallow  it.  He  hur- 
ried back  into  Rainbow  Bottom.  The  first  log  he  came 


193 

aeross  he  kicked  over,  and  grovelling  in  the  rotten  wood 
and  loose  earth  with  his  hands,  he  brought  up  half  a  dozen 
bluish-white  grubs.  He  tore  up  the  ground  the  length  of 
the  log;  then  he  went  to  others,  cramming  the  worms  and 
dirt  with  them  into  his  pockets.  When  he  had  enough,  he 
went  back,  and  with  extreme  care  placed  three  of  them  on 
his  hook.  He  tried  to  see  how  Jimmy  was  going  to  fish, 
but  he  could  not  tell.  So  Dannie  decided  that  he  would 
£ast  in  the  morning,  fish  deep  at  -ioon,  and  cast  again 
toward  evening. 

He  arose,  turned  to  the  river,  and  lifted  his  rod.  As  he 
stood  looking  over  the  channel,  and  the  pool  where  the 
Bass  homed,  the  Kingfisher  came  rattling  down  the  river, 
and  as  if  in  answer  to  its  cry,  the  Black  Bass  gave  a  leap, 
that  sent  the  water  flying. 

"Ready!"  cried  Dannie,  swinging  his  pole  over  the 
water. 

As  the  word  left  his  lips,  "whizz,"  Jimmy's  minnow 
landed  in  the  middle  of  the  circles  widening  from  the  rise 
of  the  Bass.  There  was  a  rush  and  a  snap.  Dannie  saw 
the  jaws  of  the  big  fellow  close  within  an  inch  of  the  min- 
now, while  he  swam  after  it  for  a  yard,  as  Jimmy  slowly 
reeled  in.  Dannie  waited  a  second,  then  softly  dropped 
his  grubs  on  the  water  where  he  figured  the  Bass  would  be. 
He  could  hear  Jimmy  smothering  oaths.  Dannie  said 
something  himself  as  his  untouched  bait  neared  the  bank. 
He  lifted  it,  swung  it  out,  and  slowly  trailed  it  in  again. 
"Spat!"  came  Jimmy's  minnow  almost  at  his  feet,  and 
again  the  Bass  leaped  for  it.  Again  he  missed.  As  the 
mianow  reeled  away  the  second  time,  Dannie  swung  his 


194       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

grubs  higher,  and  struck  the  water  "Spat,"  as  the  minncrw 
had  done.  "Snap,"  went  the  Bass.  One  instant  the  line 
strained,  the  next  the  hook  came  up  stripped  clean  of  bait. 

Then  Dannie  and  Jimmy  really  went  to  work,  and  they 
were  strangers.  Not  a  word  of  friendly  banter  crossed  the 
river.  They  cast  until  the  Bass  grew  suspicious,  and 
would  not  rise  to  the  bait;  then  they  fished  deep.  Then 
they  cast  again.  If  Jimmy  fell  into  trouble  with  his  reel, 
Dannie  had  the  honesty  to  stop  fishing  until  it  worked 
again,  but  he  spent  the  time  burrowing  for  grubs  until  his 
hands  resembled  the  claws  of  an  animal.  Sometimes  they 
sat,  and  still-fished.  Sometimes,  they  warily  slipped  along 
the  bank,  trailing  bait  a  few  inches  under  water.  Then 
they  would  cast  or  skitter  by  turns. 

The  Kingfisher  struck  his  stump,  and  tilted  on  again. 
His  mate,  and  their  family  of  six  followed  in  his  lead,  so 
that  their  rattle  was  almost  constant.  A  fussy  little  red- 
eyed  vireo  asked  questions,  first  of  Jimmy,  and  then 
crossing  the  river  besieged  Dannie,  but  neither  of  the  stern- 
faced  fishermen  paid  it  any  heed.  The  blackbirds  swung 
on  the  rushes,  and  talked  over  the  season.  As  always,  a 
few  crows  cawed  above  the  deep  woods,  while  the  che- 
winks  threshed  around  among  the  dry  leaves.  A  band  of 
larks  were  gathering  for  migration,  so  the  frosty  air  was 
vibrant  with  their  calls  to  each  other. 

Killdeers  were  circling  above  them  in  flocks.  Half  a 
dozen  robins  gathered  over  a  wild  grapevine,  chirping 
cheerfully,  as  they  pecked  at  the  frosted  fruit.  At  times, 
the  pointed  nose  of  a  muskrat  wove  its  way  across  the 
river,  leaving  a  shining  ripple  in  its  wake.  In  the  deep 


WHEN  THE  BLACK  BASS  STRUCK       195 

woods  squirrels  barked  and  chattered.  Frost-loosened 
crimscn  leaves  came  whirling  down,  settling  in  a  bright 
blanket  that  covered  the  water  several  feet  from  the  bank, 
while  unfortunate  bees  that  had  fallen  into  the  river  strug- 
gled frantically  to  gain  a  footing  on  them.  Water  beetles 
shot  over  the  surface  in  small  shining  parties,  and  schools 
of  tiny  minnows  played  near  the  banks.  Once  a  black 
ant  assassinated  an  enemy  on  Dannie's  shoe,  by  creeping 
up  behind  it  and  puncturing  its  abdomen. 

Noon  came,  but  neither  of  the  fishermen  spoke  or  moved 
from  his  work.  The  lunch  Mary  had  prepared  with 
such  care  they  had  forgotten.  A  little  after  noon,  Dannie 
had  another  strike,  deep  fishing.  Mid-afternoon  found 
them  still  even,  and  patiently  fishing. 

Then  came  supper  time.  The  air  was  steadily  growing 
colder.  The  south  wind  had  veered  to  the  west,  and  signs 
of  a  black  frost  were  in  the  air.  About  this  time  the  larks 
arose;  with  a  whirr  of  wings  that  proved  how  large  the 
flock  was,  sailing  straight  south. 

Jimmy  hauled  his  minnow  bucket  from  the  river,  poured 
the  water  from  it,  and  picked  his  last  minnow,  a  dead  one, 
from  the  grass.  Dannie  was  watching  him,  and  rightly 
guessed  that  he  would  fish  deep.  So  Dannie  scooped  the 
remaining  dirt  from  his  pockets,  and  found  three  grubs. 
He  placed  them  on  his  hook,  lightened  his  sinker,  and  pre- 
pared to  skitter  once  more. 

Jimmy  dropped  his  minnow  beside  the  Kingfisher  stump, 
and  let  it  sink.  Dannie  hit  the  water  at  the  base  of  the 
stump,  where  it  had  not  been  disturbed  for  a  long  time,  & 
sharp  "Spat,"  with  his  worms.  Something  seized  his 


196       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

bait,  and  was  gone.  Dannie  planted  his  feet  firmly,  squared 
his  jaws,  gripped  his  rod,  and  loosened  his  line.  As  His  eye 
followed  it,  he  saw  to  his  amazement  that  Jimmy's  line 
was  sailing  off  down  the  river  beside  his,  while  he  heard  the 
reel  singing. 

Dannie  was  soon  close  the  end  of  his  line.  He  threw 
his  weight  into  a  jerk  enough  to  have  torn  the  head  from  a 
fish,  and  down  the  river  the  Black  Bass  leaped  clear  of  the 
water,  doubled,  and  with  a  mighty  shake  tried  to  throw 
the  hook  from  his  mouth. 

"Got  him  fast,  by  Jimminy!"  screamed  Jimmy  in 
triumph. 

Straight  toward  them  rushed  the  fish.  Jimmy  reeled 
wildly;  Dannie  gathered  in  his  line  by  yard  lengths,  and 
grasped  it  with  the  hand  that  held  the  rod.  Near  them 
the  Bass  leaped  again,  then  sped  back  down  the  river. 
Jimmy's  reel  sang,  while  Dannie's  line  jerked  through  his 
fingers.  Back  came  the  fish.  Again  Dannie  gathered  in 
line,  and  Jimmy  reeled  frantically.  Then  Dannie,  relying 
on  the  strength  of  his  line,  thought  he  could  land  the  fish,  so 
he  steadily  drew  it  toward  him.  Jimmy's  reel  began  to 
sing  louder,  while  his  line  followed  Dannie's.  Instantly 
Jimmy  went  wild. 

"Stop  pullin'  me  little  silk  thrid!"  he  yelled.  "I've  got 
the  Black  Bass  hooked  fast  as  a  rock,  and  your  domn 
clothes  line  is  sawin'  across  me.  Cut  there!  Cut  that 
domn  rope!  Quick!" 

"He's  mine,  and  I'll  land  him!"  roared  Dannie.  "Cut 
yoursel',  and  let  me  gtt  my  fish ! " 

So  it  happened,  that  when  Mary  Malone,  tired  of  wait* 


WHEN  THE  BLACK  BASS  STRUCK       197 

ing  for  the  boys  to  come,  and  anxious  as  to  the  day's  out- 
come, slipped  down  to  the  Wabash  to  see  what  they  were 
doing,  she  heard  sounds  that  almost  paralyzed  her.  Shak- 
ing with  fear,  she  ran  toward  the  river,  then  paused  at  a 
little  thicket  behind  Dannie. 

Jimmy  danced  and  raged  on  the  opposite  bank.  " Cut ! " 
he  yelled.  "Cut  that  domn  cable,  and  let  me  Bass  loose! 
Cut  your  line,  I  say!" 

Dannie  stood  with  his  feet  planted  widely  apart,  his 
jaws  set.  He  drew  his  line  steadily  toward  him,  while 
Jimmy's  followed. 

"Ye  see!"  exulted  Dannie.  "Ye're  across  me.  The 
Bass  is  mine!  Reel  out  your  line  till  I  land  him,  if  ye 
dinna  want  it  broken." 

"If  you  don't  cut  your  line,  I  will!"  raved  Jimmy. 

"Cut  nothinM"  cried  Dannie.  "Let's  see  ye  try  to 
touch  it!" 

Into  the  river  went  Jimmy;  splash  went  Dannie  from 
his  bank.  He  was  nearer  the  tangled  lines,  but  the  water 
was  deepest  on  his  side,  and  the  mud  of  the  bed  held  his 
feet.  Jimmy  reached  the  crossed  lines,  knife  in  hand,  by 
the  time  Dannie  was  there. 

"Will  you  cut?"  cried  Jimmy. 

"Na!"  bellowed  Dannie.  "I've  give  up  every  last 
thing  to  ye  all  my  life,  but  I'll  no  give  up  the  Black  Bass. 
He's  mine,  and  I'll  land  him!" 

Jimmy  made  a  lunge  for  the  lines.  Dannie  swung  his 
pole  backward,  drawing  them  his  way.  Jimmy  slashed 
again.  Dannie  dropped  his  pole,  and  with  a  sweep,  caught 
the  twisted  lines  in  his  fingers 


I9«       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

"Noo,  let's  see  ye  cut  my  line!     Babby!"  he  jeered. 

Jimmy's  fist  flew  straight,  and  the  blood  streamed  from 
Dannie's  nose.  Dannie  dropped  the  lines,  and  straight- 
ened. "You "  he  panted.  "You "  And  no 

other  words  came. 

If  Jimmy  had  been  possessed  of  any  small  particle  of 
reason,  he  lost  it  at  the  sight  of  blood  on  Dannie's  face. 

"You're  a  domn  fish  thief!"  he  screamed. 

"Ye  lie!"  breathed  Dannie,  but  his  hand  did  not  lift. 

"You  are  a  coward !  You're  afraid  to  strike  like  a  man! 
Hit  me!  You  don't  dare  hit  me!" 

"Ye  lie!"  repeated  Dannie. 

"You're  a  dog!"  panted  Jimmy.  "I've  used  you  to 
wait  on  me  all  me  life!" 

"  That's  the  God's  truth!"  cried  Dannie.  But  he  made 
no  movement  to  strike.  Jimmy  leaned  forward  with  a  dis- 
torted, insane  face. 

"That  time  you  sint  me  to  Mary  for  you,  I  lied  to  her, 
and  married  her  mesilf.  Now,  will  you  fight  like  a  man?" 

Dannie  made  a  spring,  while  Jimmy  crumpled  in  his 
grasp. 

"Noo,  I  will  choke  the  miserable  tongue  out  of  your 
heid,  and  twist  the  heid  off  your  body,  and  tear  the  body  to 
mince-meat,"  raved  Dannie,  promptly  beginning  the  job. 

With  one  awful  effort  Jimmy  slightly  loosened  the  grip- 
ping hands  on  his  throat.  "Lie!"  he  gasped.  "It's  all 
a  lie!" 

"It's  the  truth!  Before  God  it's  the  truth!"  Mary 
Malone  tried  to  scream  behind  them.  "It's  the  trutM 
It's  the  truth!"  Her  ears  toid  her  that  she  was  making 


"  The  Black   Bass  leaped  clear  of  the  water  " 


WHEN  THE  BLACK  BASS  STRUCK       199 

no  sound  as  with  dry  lips  she  mouthed  it  over  and  over. 
Then  she  fainted,  and  sank  down  among  the  bushes. 

Dannie's  hands  relaxed  a  little,  he  lifted  the  weight  of 
Jimmy's  body  by  his  throat,  to  set  him  on  his  feet. 

"I'll  give  ye  juist  ane  chance,"  he  said.  "Is  that  the 
truth?" 

Jimmy's  awful  eyes  were  bulging  from  his  head,  his 
hands  were  clawing  at  Dannie's  on  his  throat,  while  his 
swollen  lips  repeated  it  over  and  over  as  breath  came: 

"It's  a  lie!     It's  a  lie!" 

"I  think  so  myself,"  said  Dannie.  "Ye  never  would 
have  dared.  Ye'd  have  known  that  I'd  find  out  some  day, 
and  on  that  day,  I'd  kill  ye  as  I  would  a  copperhead." 

"A  lie!"  panted  Jimmy. 

" Then  why  did  ye  tell  it  ? "  Dannie's  fingers  threatened 
to  renew  their  grip. 

"I  thought  if  I  could  make  you  strike  back,"  gasped 
Jimmy,  "my  hittin'  you  wouldn't  same  so  bad." 

Then  Dannie's  hands  relaxed.  "Oh,  Jimmy!  Jimmy!" 
he  cried.  "Was  there  ever  any  other  mon  like  ye?" 

Then  he  remembered  the  cause  of  their  trouble. 

"But,  I'm  everlastingly  damned,"  Dannie  went  on,  "if 
I'll  gi'e  up  the  Black  Bass  to  ye,  unless  it's  on  your  line. 
Get  yourself  up  there  on  your  bank!" 

The  shove  he  gave  Jimmy  almost  upset  him.  Jimmy 
waded  back;  when  he  climbed  the  bank,  Dannie  was  be- 
hind him.  After  him  he  dragged  the  tangled  lines  and 
poles,  up  the  bank  and  on  the  grass  came  two  big  fish;  one, 
the  great  Black  Bass  of  Horseshoe  Bend;  and  the  other 
nearly  as  large,  a  channel  catfish;  undoubtedly,  one  of 


roo       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

those  which  had  escaped  into  die  Wabash  in  an  overflow 
of  the  Celina  reservoir  that  spring. 

" NoOy  I'll  cut,"  said  Dannie.  "Keep  your  eye  on  me 
sharp.  See  me  cut  my  line  at  the  end  o'  my  pole."  He 
snipped  the  line  in  two.  "Noo  watch,"  he  cautioned,  "I 
dinna  want  contradeection  about  this!" 

He  picked  up  the  Bass,  and  taking  the  line  by  which  it 
was  fast  at  its  mouth,  he  slowly  drew  it  through  his 
fingers.  The  wiry  silk  line  slipped  away,  while  the  heavy 
cord  whipped  out  free. 

"  Is  this  my  line  ? "  asked  Dannie,  holding  it  up. 

Jimmy  nodded. 

"Is  the  Black  Bass  my  fish?  Speak  up!"  cried  Dannie, 
dangling  the  fish  from  the  line. 

"It's  yours,"  admitted  Jimmy. 

"Then  I'll  be  damned  if  I  dinna  do  what  I  please  wi'  my 
own!"  cried  Dannie.  With  trembling  fingers  he  extracted 
the  hook,  and  dropped  it.  He  took  the  gasping  big  fish  in 
both  hands,  and  tested  its  weight.  "Almost  seex,"  he 
said.  "Michty  near  seex!" 

Then  he  tossed  the  Black  Bass  back  into  the  Wabash. 
He  stooped,  and  gathered  up  his  pole  and  line.  With  on& 
foot  he  kicked  the  catfish,  the  tangled  silk  line,  and  the 
jointed  rod,  toward  Jimmy.  "Take  your  fish!"  he  said. 
He  turned  and  plunged  into  the  river,  recrossed  it  as  he 
came,  gathered  up  the  dinner  pail  and  shovel,  passed 
Mary  Malone,  a  tumbled  heap  in  the  bushes,  and  started 
toward  his  cabin. 

The  Black  Bass  struck  the  water  with  a  splash,  and  sank 
to  the  mud  of  the  bottom,  where  he  lay  joyfully  soaking  his 


WHEN  THE  BLACK  BASS  STRUCK       201 

dry  gills,  parched  tongue,  and  glazed  eyes.  He  scooped 
water  with  his  tail,  and  poured  it  over  his  torn  jaw.  And 
then  he  said  to  his  progeny:  "Children,  let  this  be  a  warn- 
ing to  you.  Never  rise  to  but  one  grub  at  a  time.  Three 
worms  are  too  good  to  be  true!  There  is  always  a  stinger 
in  their  midst."  The  Black  Bass  ruefully  shook  his  sore 
head  while  he  scooped  more  water. 


WHEN  JIMMY  MALONE  CAME  TO 
CONFESSION 


CHAPTER  IX 
WHEN  JIMMY  MALONE  CAME  TO  CONFESSION 

DANNIE  never  before  had  known  such  anger  as  he 
felt  when  he  trudged  homeward  across  Rainbow 
Bottom.  His  brain  whirled  in  a  tumult  of  con- 
flicting passions,  while  his  heart  pained  worse  than  his 
(rapidly  swelling  face.  In  one  instant  the  knowledge  that 
Jimmy  had  struck  him,  possessed  him  with  a  desire  to  turn 
back  and  do  murder.  In  the  next,  a  sense  of  profound 
scorn  for  the  cowardly  lie  which  had  driven  him  to  the  rage 
that  kills  encompassed  him.  Then  in  a  surge  came  com- 
passion for  Jimmy,  at  the  remembrance  of  the  excuse  he 
had  offered  for  saying  that  thing.  How  childish!  But 
how  like  Jimmy !  What  was  the  use  in  trying  to  deal  with 
him  as  if  he  were  a  man  ?  A  big,  spoiled,  selfish  baby  was 
all  he  ever  would  be. 

The  fallen  leaves  rustled  around  Dannie's  feet.  The 
blackbirds  above  him  in  chattering  debate  discussed  mi- 
gration. A  stiff  breeze  swept  the  fields,  and  topped  the 
embankment;  it  rushed  down  circling  around  Dannie  and 
setting  his  teeth  chattering,  for  he  was  almost  as  wet  as  if 
he  had  been  completely  immersed.  As  the  chill  struck  in, 
from  force  of  habit  he  thought  of  Jimmy.  If  he  were  ever 
going  to  learn  how  to  take  care  of  himself,  a  man  past 
thirty-five  should  know.  Would  he  come  home  and  put  on 

205 


206       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

dry  clothing?  But  when  had  Jimmy  taken  care  of  him- 
self? Dannie  felt  that  he  should  go  back,  bring  him  home, 
and  make  him  dress  quickly. 

A  sharp  pain  shot  across  Dannie's  swollen  face.  His  lips 
shut  firmly.  No!  Jimmy  had  struck  him.  And  Jimmy 
had  been  in  the  wrong.  The  fish  was  his,  and  he  had  a 
right  to  it.  No  man  living  would  have  given  it  up  to 
Jimmy,  after  he  had  changed  poles.  And  slipped  away 
with  a  boy  and  caught  those  minnows,  too!  And  wouldn't 
offer  him  even  one.  Much  good  they  had  done  him. 
Caught  a  catfish  on  a  dead  one!  Wonder  if  he  would  take 
the  catfish  to  town  and  have  its  picture  taken!  Mighty 
fine  fish,  too,  that  channel  cat!  If  it  hadn't  been  for  the 
Black  Bass,  they  would  have  wondered  and  exclaimed  over 
it,  carefully  weighed  it,  and  commented  on  the  gamy  fight 
it  made.  Just  the  same  he  was  glad,  that  he  landed  the 
Bass.  And  he  hooked  it  fairly.  If  Jimmy's  old  catfish 
mixed  up  with  his  line,  he  could  not  help  that.  He  baited, 
hooked,  played,  and  landed  the  Bass;  and  without  any 
minnows  either. 

When  he  reached  the  top  of  the  hill  he  realized  that  he 
was  going  to  look  back.  In  spite  of  Jimmy's  selfishness, 
in  spite  of  the  blow,  in  spite  of  the  ugly  lie,  Jimmy  had 
been  his  lifelong  partner,  and  his  only  friend,  so  stiffen  his 
neck  as  he  would,  Dannie  felt  his  head  turning.  He  de- 
liberately swung  his  fish  pole  into  the  bushes;  when  it 
caught,  as  he  knew  it  would,  he  set  down  his  load,  turning 
as  if  to  release  it.  Not  a  sight  of  Jimmy  anywhere!  Dan- 

started  on. 

We  are  after  you,  Jimmy  MaloneJ" 


WHEN  JIMMY  CAME  TO  CONFESSION  207 

A  thin,  wiry  thread  of  a  cry,  that  seemed  to  come  twist- 
ing as  if  wrung  from  the  chill  air  about  him,  whispered  in 
his  ear.  Dannie  jumped,  dropped  his  load,  and  ran  to- 
ward the  river.  He  could  not  see  a  sign  of  Jimmy.  He 
hurried  over  the  shaky  bridge  they  had  built.  The  cat- 
fish lay  gasping  on  the  grass,  the  case  and  jointed  rod  were 
on  a  log,  but  Jimmy  was  gone. 

Dannie  gave  the  catfish  a  shove  that  sent  it  far  into  the 
river,  then  ran  toward  the  shoals  at  the  lower  curve  of 
Horseshoe  Bend.  The  tracks  of  Jimmy's  crossing  were 
plain,  so  after  him  hurried  Dannie.  He  ran  up  the  hill, 
and  as  he  reached  the  top  he  saw  Jimmy  climb  on  a  wagon 
out  on  the  road.  Dannie  called,  but  the  farmer  touched 
up  his  horses  and  trotted  away  without  hearing  him. 

"The  fool!  To  ride!"  thought  Dannie.  "Noo  he  will 
chill  to  the  bone!'* 

Dannie  cut  across  the  fields  to  the  lane  and  gathered  up 
his  load.  With  the  knowledge  that  Jimmy  had  started  to 
town  came  the  thought  of  Mary.  What  was  he  going  to 
say  to  her?  He  would  have  to  tell  her,  and  he  did  not 
like  the  showing.  Tell  her  ?  He  could  not  tell  her.  He 
would  lie  to  her  once  more,  this  one  time  for  himself.  He 
would  tell  her  he  fell  in  the  river  to  account  for  his  wet 
clothing  and  bruised  face,  and  wait  until  Jimmy  came 
home  and  see  what  explanation  he  made. 

He  went  to  the  cabin  and  tapped  on  the  door;  there  was 
no  answer,  so  he  opened  it  and  set  the  lunch  basket  inside. 
Then  he  hurried  home,  built  a  fire,  bathed,  and  put  on  dry 
dothing.  He  wondered  where  Mary  was.  He  was  rav^ 
enously  hungry  now.  He  finished  all  the  evening  work, 


208       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

and  as  she  still  did  not  come,  he  concluded  that  she  had 
gone  to  town,  and  that  Jimmy  knew  she  was  there.  Of 
course,  that  was  it!  Jimmy  could  get  dry  clothing  of  his 
brother-in-law.  To  be  sure,  Mary  had  gone  to  town. 
That  wis  why  Jimmy  went. 

He  was  right.  Mary  had  gone  to  town.  When  sense 
slowly  returned  to  her  she  sat  up  in  the  bushes  and  stared 
around  her.  Then  she  arose  and  looked  toward  the  river. 
The  men  were  gone.  Mary  figured  the  situation  correctly. 
They  were  too  much  of  river  men  to  drown  in  a  few  feet  of 
water;  they  scarcely  would  kill  each  other.  They  had 
fought,  then  Dannie  had  gone  home,  and  Jimmy  to  the 
consolation  of  Casey's.  Where  should  she  go  ?  Mary 
Malone's  lips  set  in  a  firm  line. 

"It's  the  truth!  It's  the  truth!"  she  panted  over  and 
over,  and  now  that  there  was  no  one  to  hear,  she  found  that 
she  could  say  it  very  plainly.  As  the  sense  of  her  out- 
raged womanhood  swept  over  her  she  grew  almost  de- 
lirious. 

"I  hope  you  killed  him,  Dannie  Micnoun,"  she  raved, 
"I  hope  you  killed  him,  for  if  you  didn't,  I  will.  Oh !  Oh !" 

She  was  almost  suffocating  with  rage.  The  only  thing 
clear  to  her  was  that  she  never  again  would  live  an  hour 
with  Jimmy  Malone.  He  might  have  gone  home.  Prob- 
ably he  did  go  for  dry  clothing.  She  would  go  to  her 
sister.  She  hurried  across  the  bottom,  with  wavering 
knees  she  climbed  the  embankment,  then  skirting  the 
fields,  she  half  walked,  half  ran  to  the  village,  and  selecting 
back  streets  and  alleys,  tumbled,  nearly  distracted,  inte 
the  home  of  her  sister. 


WHEN  JIMMY  CAME  TO  CONFESSION  209 

"Holy  Vargin!"  screamed  Katie  Dolan.  "Whativer 
do  be  ailin'  you,  Mary  Malone?" 

"Jimmy!    Jimmy!"  sobbed  the  shivering  Mary. 

"I  knew  it!  I  knew  it!  I've  ixpicted  it  for  years!" 
cried  Kati*. 

"They've  had  a  fight- 

"Just  what  I  looked  for!  I  always  told  you  they  were 
too  thick  to  last!" 

"And  Jimmy  told  Dannie  he'd  lied  to  me  and  married 
me  himsilf " 

"He  did!     I  saw  him  do  it!"  screamed  Katie. 

"And  Dannie  tried  to  kill  him " 

"I  h«^pe  to  Hivin  he  got  it  done,  for  if  any  man  iver 
naded  killin'!  A  carpse  named  Jimmy  Malone  would  a 
looked  good  to  me  any  time  these  fiftane  years.  I  always 
said " 

"And  he  took  it  back " 

"Just  like  the  rid  divil!  I  knew  he'd  do  it!  And  of 
course  that  mutton-head  of  a  Dannie  Micnoun  belaved 
him,  whativer  he  said " 

"Of  course  he  did!" 

"I  knew  it!     Didn't  I  say  so  first?" 

"And  I  tried  to  scrame  and  me  tongue  stuck " 


"Sure!  You  poor  lamb!  My  tongue  always  sticks! 
jfust  what  I  ixpicted!" 

"And  me  head  just  went  round  and  I  keeled  over  in  the 
bushes " 

"I've  told  Dolan  a  thousand  times!  I  knew  it!  It's  no 
news  to  me!"' 

"And  whin  I  came  to,  tb#y  were  gone,  and  I  don't  know 


210       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

where,  and  I  don't  care!  But  I  won't  go  back!  I  won't  go 
back!  I'll  not  live  with  him  another  day.  Oh,  Katie! 
Think  how  you'd  feel  if  some  one  had  siparated  you  and 
Dolan  before  you'd  iver  been  togither!" 

Katie  Dolan  gathered  her  sister  into  her  arms.  "You 
poor  lamb,"  she  wailed.  "I've  known  ivry  word  of  this 
for  fiftane  years,  and  if  I'd  had  the  laste  idea  'twas  so,  I'd 
a  busted  Jimmy  Malone  to  smithereens  before  it  iver  hap- 
pened!" 

"I  won't  go  back!     I  won't  go  back!"  raved  Mary. 

"I  guess  you  won't  go  back,"  cried  Katie,  patting  every 
available  spot  on  Mary,  or  making  dashes  at  her  own  eyes 
to  stop  the  flow  of  tears.  "I  guess  you  won't  gr  back! 
You'll  stay  right  here  with  me.  I've  always  wanted  you! 
I  always  said  I'd  love  to  have  you!  I've  told  thim  from 
the  start  there  was  something  wrong  out  there!  I've 
ixpicted  you  ivry  day  for  years,  and  I  niver  was  so  sur- 
prised in  all  me  life  as  whin  you  came!  Now,  don't  you 
shed  another  tear.  The  Lord  knows  this  is  enough,  for 
anybody.  None  at  all  would  be  too  many  for  Jimmy  Ma- 
lone.  You  get  right  into  bid,  and  I'll  make  you  a  cup  of 
rid-pipper  tay  to  take  the  chill  out  of  you.  And  if  Jimmy 
Malone  comes  around  this  house  I'll  lay  him  out  with  the 
poker,  and  if  Dannie  Micnoun  comes  saft-saddering  after 
him  I'll  stritch  him  out  too;  yis,  and  if  Dolan's  got  any- 
thing to  say,  he  can  take  his  midicine  like  the  rist.  The 
min  are  all  of  a  pace  anyhow!  I've  always  said  it!  If  I 
wouldn't  like  to  get  me  fingers  on  that  haythen;  niver 
goin'  to  confission,  spindin'  ivrything  on  himself  you 
nadedfordacintlivin'!  Lit  him  come!  Just  lit  him  come!" 


WHEN  JIMMY  CAME  TO  CONFESSION   211 

Thus  forestalled  with  knowledge,  and  overwhelmed  with 
kindness,  Mary  Malone  cuddled  up  in  bed  and  sobbed  her- 
self to  sleep,  while  Katie  Dolan  assured  her,  as  long  as  she 
was  conscious,  that  she  always  had  known  it,  and  if 
Jimmy  Malone  came,  she  had  the  poker  ready. 

Dannie  did  the  evening  work.  When  he  milked  he 
drank  most  of  it,  but  that  only  made  him  hungrier,  so  he 
ate  the  lunch  he  had  brought  back  from  the  river,  as  he  sat 
before  a  roaring  fire.  His  heart  warmed  with  his  body. 
Irresponsible  Jimmy  always  had  aroused  something  of  the 
paternal  instinct  in  Dannie.  Some  one  had  to  be  re- 
sponsible, so  Dannie  had  been.  Some  way  he  felt  respon- 
sible now.  With  another  man  like  himself,  it  would  have 
been  man  to  man,  but  he  always  had  spoiled  Jimmy;  now 
who  was  to  blame  that  he  was  spoiled  ? 

Dannie  was  very  tired,  his  face  throbbed  and  ached 
painfully,  and  it  was  badly  discoloured.  His  bed  never 
seemed  so  inviting,  and  never  had  the  chance  to  sleep  been 
farther  away.  With  a  sigh,  he  buttoned  his  coat,  twisted 
an  old  scarf  around  his  neck,  and  started  to  the  barn. 
There  was  going  to  be  a  black  frost.  The  cold  seemed  to 
pierce  him.  He  hitched  to  the  single  buggy,  and  drove  to 
town.  He  went  to  Casey's  and  asked  for  Jimmy. 

"He  isn't  here,"  s"aid  Casey. 

"Has  he  been  here?"  asked  Dannie. 

Casey  hesitated,  and  then  blurted  out:  "He  said  you 
wasn't  his  keeper,  and  if  you  came  after  him,  to  tell  you  to 
go  to  hell." 

Then  Dannie  was  sure  that  Jimmy  was  in  the  back 
room,  drying  his  clothing.  So  he  drove  to  Mrs.  Dolan's, 


212        AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

and  asked  if  Mary  was  there  for  the  night.  Mrs.  Dolan 
said  she  was,  she  was  going  to  stay,  and  he  might  tell 
Jimmy  Malone  that  he  need  not  come  near  them,  unless  he 
wanted  his  head  laid  open.  She  shut  the  door  forcibly. 

Dannie  waited  until  Casey  closed  at  eleven,  and  to  his 
astonishment  Jimmy  was  not  among  the  men  who  came 
out.  That  meant  that  he  had  drank  lightly  after  all, 
slipped  from  the  back  door,  and  gone  home.  And  yet, 
would  he  do  it,  after  what  he  had  said  about  being  afraid? 
If  he  had  not  drunk  heavily,  he  would  not  go  into  the  night 
alone,  when  he  had  been  afraid  in  the  daytime.  Dannie 
climbed  from  the  buggy  once  more,  and  patiently  searched 
the  alley  and  the  street  leading  to  the  footpath  across 
farms.  No  Jimmy. 

Then  Dannie  drove  home,  stabled  his  horse,  and  tried 
Jimmy's  back  door.  It  was  unlocked.  If  Jimmy  were 
there,  he  probably  would  be  lying  across  the  bed  in  his 
dothing.  Dannie  knew  that  Mary  was  in  town.  He 
made  a  -light,  and  cautiously  entered  the  sleeping  room, 
intending  to  undress  and  cover  Jimmy,  but  Jimmy  was  not 
there. 

Dannie's  mouth  fell  open.  He  put  out  the  light,  and 
stood  on  the  back  steps.  The  frost  had  settled  in  a  silver 
sheen  over  the  roofs  of  the  barns  and  the  sheds,  while  a 
scum  of  ice  had  frozen  over  a  tub  of  drippings  at  the  well. 
Dannie  was  bitterly  cold.  He  entered  his  cabin,  and 
hunted  out  his  winter  overcoat,  lighted  his  lantern,  picked 
up  a  heavy  cudgel  in  the  corner,  and  started  to  town  on 
foot  over  the  path  that  lay  across  the  fields.  He  followed 
it  to  Casey's  back  door.  He  went  to  Mrs.  Dolan's  again, 


WHEN  JIMMY  CAME  TO  CONFESSION   213 

but  everything  was  black  and  silent  there.  There  had 
been  evening  trains.  He  thought  of  Jimmy's  frequent 
threat  to  go  away.  He  dismissed  that  thought  grimly. 
There  had  been  no  talk  of  going  away  lately,  and  he  knew 
that  Jimmy  had  little  money.  Dannie  started  home,  and 
for  a  rod  on  either  side  he  searched  the  path. 

As  he  came  to  the  back  of  the  barns,  he  berated  himself 
for  not  thinking  of  them  first.  He  searched  both  of  them, 
all  around  them,  then  wholly  tired,  and  disgusted,  he  went 
to  bed.  He  decided  that  Jimmy  had  gone  to  Mrs.  Dolan's 
and  that  kindly  woman  had  relented  and  taken  him  in. 
Of  course  that  was  where  he  was. 

Dannie  was  up  early  in  the  morning.  He  wanted  to 
have  the  work  done  before  Mary  and  Jimmy  came  home. 
He  fed  the  stock,  milked,  built  a  fire,  and  began  cleaning 
the  stables.  As  he  wheeled  the  first  barrow  of  manure  to 
the  heap,  he  noticed  a  rooster  giving  danger  signals  behind 
the  straw-stack.  At  the  second  load  it  was  still  there,  so 
Dannie  went  to  see  what  alarmed  it. 

Jimmy  lay  behind  the  stack,  where  he  had  fallen  face 
down.  As  Dannie  tried  to  lift  him  he  saw  that  he  would 
have  to  cut  him  loose,  for  he  had  frozen  fast  in  the  muck  of 
the  barnyard.  He  had  pitched  forward  among  the  rough 
cattle  and  horse  tracks  and  fallen  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
entrance  to  a  deep  hollow  eaten  out  of  the  straw  by  the 
cattle.  Had  he  reached  that  shelter  he  would  have  been 
warm  enough  and  safe  for  the  night. 

Horrified,  Dannie  whipped  out  his  knife,  cut  Jimmy's 
clothing  loose  and  carried  him  to  his  bed.  He  covered 
him,  and  hitching  up  drove  at  too  speed  for  a  doctor.  He 


2i4        AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

sent  the  physician  ahead  and  then  rushed  to  Mrs.  Dolan's. 
She  saw  him  drive  up  and  came  to  the  door. 

"Send  Mary  home  and  ye  come  too,"  Dannie  called  be- 
fore she  had  time  to  speak.  "Jimmy  lay  oot  all  last  nicht, 
and  I'm  afraid  he's  dead." 

Mrs.  Dolan  hurried  in  and  repeated  the  message  to 
Mary.  She  sat  speechless  while  her  sister  bustled  around 
putting  on  her  wraps. 

"  I  ain't  goin',"  she  said  shortly.  "  If  I  got  sight  of  him, 
I'd  kill  him  if  he  wasn't  dead." 

"Oh,  yis  you  are  goin',"  said  Katie  Dolan.  "If  he's 
dead,  you  know,  it  will  save  you  being  hanged  for  killing 
him.  Get  on  these  things  of  mine  and  hurry.  You  got  to 
go  for  decency  sake;  and  kape  a  still  tongue  in  your  head. 
Dannie  Micnoun  is  waiting  for  us." 

Together  they  went  out  and  climbed  into  the  carriage. 
Mary  said  nothing,  but  Dannie  was  too  miserable  to 
notice. 

"You  didn't  find  him  thin,  last  night?"  asked  Mrs. 
Dolan. 

"Na!"  shivered  Dannie.  "I  was  in  town  twice.  I 
hunted  almost  all  nicht.  At  last  I  made  sure  you  had 
taken  him  in  so  I  went  to  bed.  It  was  three  o'clock  then. 
I  must  have  passed  often,  wi'in  a  few  yards  of  him." 

"Where  was  he?"  asked  Katie. 

"Behind  the  straw-stack,"  replied  Dannie. 

"Do  you  think  he  will  die?" 

"Dee!"  cried  Dannie.  "Jimmy  dee!  Oh,  my  God! 
We  mauna  let  him!" 

Mrs.  Dolan  took  a  furtive  peep  at  Mary,  who,  dry-eyed 


WHEN  JIMMY  CAME  TO  CONFESSION  215 

and  white,  was  staring  straight  ahead.  She  was  trembUng 
^nd  very  pale,  but  if  Katie  Dolan  knew  anything  she  knew 
that  her  sister's  face  was  unforgiving  and  she  did  not  in  the 
least  blame  her. 

Dannie  reached  home  as  soon  as  the  horse  could  take 
them,  then  under  the  doctor's  directions  all  of  them  began 
work.  Mary  did  what  she  was  told,  but  she  did  it  de- 
liberately, and  if  Dannie  had  taken  time  to  notice  her  he 
would  have  seen  anything  but  his  idea  of  a  woman  facing 
death  for  any  one  she  ever  had  loved.  Mary's  hurt  went 
so  deep,  Mrs.  Dolan  had  trouble  to  keep  it  covered. 
Some  of  the  neighbours  said  Mary  was  cold-hearted;  some 
of  them  that  she  was  stupefied  with  grief. 

Without  stopping  for  food  or  sleep,  Dannie  nursed 
Jivnmy.  He  rubbed,  he  bathed,  he  poulticed,  he  badgered 
the  doctor  and  cursed  his  inability  to  do  some  good.  To 
every  one  except  Dannie,  Jimmy's  case  was  hopeless  from 
the  first.  He  developed  double  pneumonia  in  its  worst 
forai  when  he  was  in  no  condition  to  endure  it  in  the 
slightest.  His  laboured  breathing  could  be  heard  all  over 
the  cabin,  and  he  could  speak  only  in  gasps.  On  the  third 
day  he  seemed  slightly  better.  When  Dannie  asked  what 
he  could  do  for  him,  "Father  Michael,'*  Jimmy  panted, 
and  clung  to  Dannie's  hand. 

Dannie  sent  a  man  and  remained  with  Jimmy.  He 
made  no  offer  to  go  when  the  priest  came. 

"This  is  probably  in  the  nature  of  a  last  confession," 
said  Father  Michael  to  Dannie,  "I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to 
leave  us  alone." 

Dannie  felt  the  hand  that  clung  to  him  relax,  and  the 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

perspiration  broke  on  his  temples.  "Shall  I  go,  Jimmy?'1 
he  asked. 

Jimmy  nodded.  Dannie  arose  heavily  and  left  the  room. 
He  sat  down  outside  the  door  resting  his  head  in  his  hands. 

The  priest  stood  beside  Jimmy. 

"The  doctor  tells  me  it  is  difficult  for  you  to  speak,"  he 
said,  "I  will  help  you  all  I  can.  I  will  ask  questions  and 
you  need  only  assent  with  your  head  or  hand.  Do  you 
wish  the  last  sacrament  administered,  Jimmy  Malone?" 

The  sweat  rolled  off  Jimmy's  brow.     He  assented. 

"Do  you  wish  to  make  final  confession?" 

A  deep  groan  shook  Jimmy.  The  priest  remembered  a 
gay,  laughing  boy,  flinging  back  a  shock  of  auburn  haiir, 
his  feet  twinkling  in  the  lead  of  the  dance.  Here  was  rufn 
to  make  the  heart  of  compassion  ache.  The  Father  benr, 
and  clasped  the  hand  of  Jimmy  firmly.  The  question  he 
asked  was  between  Jimmy  Malone  and  his  God.  The  an- 
swer almost  strangled  him. 

"Can  you  confess  that  mortal  sin,  Jimmy?"  asked  the 
priest. 

The  drops  on  Jimmy's  face  merged  in  one  bath  of  agony. 
His  hands  clenched  and  his  breath  seemed  to  go  no  lower 
than  his  throat. 

"Lied — Dannie,"  he  rattled.  "Sip-rate  him — and 
Mar/." 

"Are  you  trying  to  confess  that  you  betrayed  a  confi- 
dence of  Dannie  Macnoun  and  married  the  girl  who  be- 
longed to  him,  yourself? " 

Jimmy  assented. 

His  horrified  eyes  hung  on  the  priest's  face  and  saw  it 


WHEN  JIMMY  CAME  TO  CONFESSION  217 

turn  cold  and  stern.  Always  the  thing  he  had  done  had 
tormented  him;  but  not  until  the  past  summer  had  he  be- 
gun to  realize  the  depth  of  it,  and  it  had  almost  unseated 
his  reason.  Now  had  come  tallest  appreciation,  ?,s  Jimmy 
read  the  eyes  filled  with  repulsion  above  him. 

"And  with  that  sin  on  your  soul,  you  ask  the  last  sacra- 
ment and  the  seal  of  forgiveness!  You  have  not  wronged 
God  and  the  Holy  Catholic  Church  as  you  have  this  man, 
with  whom  you  have  lived  for  years,  while  you  possessed 
his  rightful  wife.  Now  he  is  here,  in  deathless  devotion, 
fighting  to  save  you.  You  may  confess  to  him.  If  he  will 
forgive  you,  God  and  the  Church  will  ratify  it,  and  set  the 
seal  on  your  brow.  If  not,  you  die  unshriven !  I  will  call 
Dannie  Macnoun." 

One  gurgling  howl  broke  from  the  swollen  lips  of  Jimmy. 

As  Dannie  entered  the  room,  the  priest  spoke  a  few 
words  to  him,  stepped  out  and  closed  the  door.  Dannie 
lurried  to  Jimmy's  side. 

"He  said  ye  wanted  to  tell  me  something,"  said  Dannier 
"What  is  it?  Do  you  want  me  to  do  anything  for  you?" 

Suddenly  Jimmy  struggled  to  a  sitting  posture.  His 
popping  eyes  almost  burst  from  their  sockets  as  he  clutched 
Dannie  with  both  hands.  The  perspiration  poured  in 
little  streams  down  his  dreadful  face. 

"Mary,"  the  next  word  was  lost  in  a  strangled  gasp. 
Then  came  "yours,"  and  then  a  queer  rattle.  Something 
seemed  to  give  way.  "The  divils!"  he  shrieked.  "The 
divils  have  got  me!" 

Snap !  his  heart  failed,  so  Jimmy  Malone  went  out  to  face 
his  record,  unforgiven  by  man,  and  unshriven  by  priest. 


DANNIE'S  RENUNCIATION 


CHAPTER  X 
DANNIE'S  RENUNCIATION 

SO  THEY  stretched  Jimmy's  length  on  Five  Mile 
Hill  beside  the  three  babies  who  had  lacked  the 
"vital  spark."  Mary  went  to  the  Dolans  for  the 
winter,  leaving  Dannie  sole  occupant  of  Rainbow  Bottom. 
Because  so  much  fruit  and  food  that  would  freeze  were 
stored  there,  he  was  even  asked  to  live  in  Jimmy's  cabin. 

Dannie  began  the  winter  stolidly.  All  day  long  and  as 
far  as  he  could  find  anything  to  do  in  the  night,  he  worked. 
He  mended  everything  on  both  farms,  rebuilt  the  fences, 
then  as  a  never-failing  resource,  he  cut  wood.  He  cut  so 
Tnuch  that  he  began  to  realize  that  it  would  become  too  dry 
.-so  the  burning  of  it  would  be  extravagant.  He  stopped 
that  and  began  making  some  changes  he  had  long  contem- 
plated. During  fur  time  he  set  hi?  line  of  traps  on  his  side 
of.  the  river  while  on  the  other  he  carefully  set  Jimmy's. 

But  he  divided  the  proceeds  from  the  skins  exactly  in 
half,  no  matter  whose  traps  caught  them,  then  with 
Jimmy's  share  of  the  money  he  started  a  bank  account  for 
Mary.  As  he  could  not  use  all  of  them  he  sold  Jimmy's 
horses,  cattle  and  pigs.  With  half  the  stock  gone  he 
needed  only  half  the  hay  and  grain  stored  for  feeding.  He 
disposed  of  the  chickens,  turkeys,  ducks,  and  geese  that 
Mary  wanted  sold,  placing  the  money  to  her  credit.  He 

221 


222       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

sent  her  a  beautiful  little  red  bank  book  with  an  explana* 
tion  of  all  these  transactions,  by  Dolan.  Mary  threw  the 
book  across  the  room  because  she  wanted  Dannie  to  keep 
her  money  himself;  then  cried  herself  to  sleep  that  night, 
because  Dannie  had  sent  the  book  instead  of  bringing  it. 
When  she  fully  understood  the  transactions  and  realized 
that  if  she  chose  she  could  spend  several  hundred  dollars, 
she  grew  very  proud  of  that  book. 

Through  the  empty  cabins  and  the  barns,  working  cm 
the  farms,  wading  the  mud  and  water  of  the  river  bank,  or 
tingling  with  cold  on  the  ice  went  two  Dannies :  the  one  a 
dull,  listless  man,  mechanically  forcing  a  tired,  overworked 
body  to  action;  the  other  a  self-accused  murderer. 

"I  am  responsible  for  the  whole  thing,"  he  told  him&elf 
many  times  a  day.  "I  always  humoured  Jimmy.  I  al- 
ways took  the  muddy  side  of  the  road,  the  big  end  of  the 
log,  the  hard  part  of  the  work,  and  filled  his  traps  wi'  rats 
from  my  own;  why  in  God's  name  did  I  let  the  dei)  o* 
stubbornness  in  me  drive  him  to  his  death  noo?  Why 
didna  I  let  him  have  the  Black  Bass?  Why  didna  I  m?»ke 
him  come  home  and  put  on  dry  clothes  ?  I  killed  him,  j  wist; 
as  sure  as  if  I'd  taken  an  ax  and  broken  his  heid." 

Through  every  minute  of  the  exposure  of  winter  out- 
doors and  the  torment  of  it  inside,  Dannie  tortured  himsftlf. 
Of  Mary  he  seldom  thought  at  all.  She  was  safe  with  her 
.sister.  Dannie  did  not  know  when  or  how  it  happened, 
but  he  awoke  one  day  to  the  realization  that  he  had  re- 
nounced her.  He  had  killed  Jimmy;  he  could  not  take  his 
wife  and  his  farm.  And  Dannie  was  so  numb  with  long- 
suffering,  that  he  did  not  much  care.  There  come  times 


DANNIE'S  RENUNCIATION  223 

when  troubles  pile  so  deep  that  the  edge  of  human  feeling 
is  dulled. 

He  would  take  care  of  Mary,  yes,  she  was  as  much 
Jimmy's  as  his  farm,  but  he  did  not  want  her  for  himself 
now.  If  he  had  to  kill  his  only  friend,  he  would  not  com- 
plete his  downfall  by  trying  to  win  his  wife. 

So  through  that  winter  Mary  had  very  little  considera- 
tion in  the  remorseful  soul  of  Dannie,  and  Jimmy  grew,  as 
the  dead  grow,  by  leaps  and  bounds,  until  by  spring  Dan- 
nie had  him  well-nigh  canonized. 

When  winter  broke,  Dannie  had  his  future  carefully 
mapped  out.  That  future  was  devotion  to  Jimmy's  mem- 
ory, with  no  more  of  Mary  in  it  than  was  possible  to  keep 
out.  He  told  himself  that  he  was  glad  she  was  away  and 
he  did  not  care  to  have  her  return.  Deep  in  his  soul  he 
harboured  the  feeling  that  he  had  killed  Jimmy  to  make 
himself  look  victor  in  her  eyes  in  such  a  small  matter  as 
taking  a  fish.  And  deeper  yet  a  feeling  that,  everything 
considered,  still  she  might  mourn  Jimmy  more  than  she 
did. 

So  Dannie  definitely  settled  that  he  always  would  live 
alone  on  the  farms.  Mary  should  remain  with  her  sister, 
and  at  his  death,  everything  should  be  hers.  The  night  he 
finally  reached  that  decision,  the  Kingfisher  came  home. 
Dannie  heard  his  rattle  of  exultation  as  he  struck  the  em- 
bankment and  the  suffering  man  turned  his  face  to  the 
wall  and  sobbed  aloud,  so  that  for  a  little  time  he  stifled 
Jimmy's  dying  gasps  that  in  wakeful  night  hours  sounded 
in  his  ears.  Early  the  following  morning  he  drove  through 
the  *riHage  on  his  way  to  the  county  seat,  with  a  load  of 


224       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

grain.     Dolan  saw  him  and  running  home  he  told  Mary. 
"He  will  be  gone  all  day.     Now  is  your  chance!"  he  said. 

Mary  sprang  to  her  feet,  "Hurry!"  she  panted,  "  hurry  i" 

An  hour  later  a  loaded  wagon,  a  man  and  three  women 
drew  up  before  the  cabins  in  Rainbow  Bottom.  Mary,  her 
sister,  Dolan,  and  a  scrub  woman  entered.  Mary  pointed 
out  the  objects  which  she  wished  removed,  and  Dolan 
carried  them  out.  They  took  up  the  carpets,  swept  down 
the  walls,  and  washed  the  windows.  They  hung  pictures, 
prints,  and  lithographs,  and  curtained  the  windows  in 
dainty  white.  They  covered  the  floors  with  bright  car- 
pets, and  placed  new  ornaments  on  the  mantel,  and  com* 
fortable  furniture  in  the  rooms.  There  was  a  white  iron 
bed,  and  several  rocking  chairs,  and  a  shelf  across  the 
window  filled  with  potted  hyacinths  in  bloom.  Among 
them  stood  a  glass  bowl,  containing  three  wonderful  little 
gold  fish,  while  from  the  top  casing  hung  a  brass  cage, 
from  which  a  green  linnet  sang  an  exultant  song. 

You  should  have  seen  Mary  M alone!  When  every- 
thing was  finished,  she  was  changed  the  most  of  all.  She 
was  so  sure  of  Dannie,  that  while  the  winter  had  brought 
annoyance  that  he  did  not  come,  it  really  had  been  one 
long,  glorious  rest.  She  laughed  and  sang,  and  grew 
younger  with  every  passing  day.  As  youth  surged  back* 
with  it  returned  roundness  of  form,  freshness  of  face,  and 
that  bred  the  desire  to  be  daintily  dressed.  So  of  pretty 
light  fabrics  she  made  many  summer  dresses,  for  wear 
mourning  she  would  not. 

When  calmness  returned  to  Mary,  she  had  told  the  Do* 
lans  the  whole  storj 


DANNIE'S  RENUNCIATION  225 

"Now  do  you  ixpict  me  to  grieve  for  the  man?*'  she 
asked.  "  Fiftane  years  with  him,  through  his  lying  tongue,, 
whin  by  ivry  right  of  our  souls  and  our  bodies,  Dannie 
Micnoun  and  I  belanged  to  each  other.  Mourn  for  him! 
I'm  glad  he's  dead!  Glad!  Glad!  If  he  had  not  died,  I 
should  have  killed  him,  if  Dannie  did  not!  It  was  a 
happy  thing  that  he  died.  His  death  saved  me  mortal 
sin.  I'm  glad,  I  tell  you,  and  1  do  not  forgive  him,  and  I 
niver  will,  and  I  hope  he  will  burn •" 

Katie  Dolan  clapped  her  hand  over  Mary's  mouth. 
"For  the  love  of  marcy,  don't  say  that!"  she  cried.  "You 
will  have  to  confiss  it,  and  you'd  be  ashamed  to  face  the 
praste." 

"I  would  not,"  cried  Mary.  "Father  Michael  knows 
I'm  just  an  ordinary  woman,  he  doesn't  ixpict  me  to  be  afi 
angel."  But  she  left  the  sentence  unnmshed. 

After  Mary's  cabin  was  arranged  to  her  satisfaction, 
J:hey  attacked  Dannie's;  emptying  it,  cleaning  it  com- 
pletely, and  refurnishing  it  from  the  best  of  the  things  that 
had  been  in  both.  Then  Mary  added  some  new  touches. 
A  comfortable  big  chair  was  placed  by  his  fire,  new  books 
on  his  mantel,  a  flower  in  his  window,  and  new  covers  on 
his  bed.  While  the  women  worked,  Dolan  raked  the 
yards,  and  freshened  the  outside  as  best  he  could.  When 
everything  they  had  planned  to  do  was  accomplished,  the 
wagon,  loaded  with  the  ugly  old  things  Mary  despised, 
drove  back  to  the  village,  while  she,  with  little  Tilly  Dolan 
for  company,  remained. 

Mary  was  tense  with  excitement.  All  the  woman  in  hei 
had  yearned  for  these  few  pretty  things  she  wanted  for  het 


226       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

home  throughout  the  years  that  she  had  been  compelled  to 
live  in  crude,  ugly  surroundings;  because  every  cent  above 
plainest  clothing  and  food  went  for  drink  for  Jimmy,  and 
treats  for  his  friends.  Now  she  danced  and  sang,  and 
flew  around  trying  a  chair  here,  and  another  there,  to  get 
the  best  effect.  Every  little  while  she  slipped  into  her  bed- 
room, stood  before  a  real  dresser,  and  pulled  out  its  trays 
to  make  sure  that  her  fresh,  light  dresses  were  really  there. 
She  shook  out  the  dainty  curtains  repeatedly,  watered  the 
flowers,  and  fed  the  fish  when  they  did  not  need  it.  She 
babbled  incessantly  to  the  green  linnet,  which  with  swollen 
throat  rejoiced  with  her,  and  occasionally  she  looked  in  the 
mirror. 

She  lighted  the  fire,  and  put  food  to  cook.  She  covered 
3  new  table,  with  a  new  cloth,  set  it  with  new  dishes,  and 
placed  a  jar  of  her  flowers  in  the  centre.  What  a  supper  she 
aid  cook!  When  she  had  waited  until  she  was  near 
crazed  with  nervousness,  she  heard  the  wagon  coming  up 
the  lane.  Peeping  from  the  window,  she  saw  Dannie  stop 
the  horses  short,  and  sit  staring  at  the  cabins.  Then  she 
realized  that  smoke  would  be  curling  from  the  chimney, 
while  the  flowers  and  curtains  would  change  the  shining 
windows  outside.  She  trembled  with  excitement,  and 
then  a  great  yearning  seized  her,  as  he  slowly  drove  closer, 
for  his  brown  hair  was  almost  white,  and  the  lines  on  his 
face  seemed  indelibly  stamped.  And  then  hot  anger  shook 
her.  Fifteen  years  of  her  life  wrecked,  and  look  at  Dan- 
nie!  That  was  Jimmy  Malone's  work. 

Over  and  over,  throughout  the  winter,  she  had  planned 
this  home-coming  as  a  surprise  for  Dannie.  Book-fine 


DANNIE'S  RENUNCIATION  227 

were  the  things  she  intended  to  say  to  him.  When  he 
opened  the  door,  and  stared  at  her  around  the  altered 
room,  she  swiftly  went  to  him,  and  took  the  bundles  he 
carried  from  his  arms. 

"Hurry  up,  and  unhitch,  Dannie,"  she  said.  "Your 
supper  is  waiting." 

Dannie  turned  and  stolidly  walked  back  to  his  team, 
without  uttering  a  word. 

"Uncle  Dannie!"  cried  a  child's  voice.  '* Please  let  me 
ride  to  the  barn  with  you!" 

A  winsome  little  maid  came  rushing  to  Dannie,  threw 
her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  hugged  him  tight,  as  he 
stooped  to  lift  her.  Her  yellow  curls  were  against  his 
cheek,  her  breath  was  flower-sweet  on  his  face. 

"Why  didn't  you  kiss  Aunt  Mary?"  she  demanded. 
"*  Daddy  Dolan  always  kisses  mammy  when  he  comes  from 
all  day  gone.  Aunt  Mary's  worked  so  hard  to  please  you. 
And  Daddie  worked,  and  mammy  worked,  and  another 
woman.  You  are  pleased,  ain't  you,  Uncle  Dannie?" 

"  Who  told  ye  to  call  me  Uncle?  *'  asked  Dannie,  with  un- 
steady lips. 

"She  did!"  announced  the  little  woman,  flourishing  the 
whip  in  the  direction  of  the  cabin.  Dannie  climbed  down 
to  unhitch.  "You  are  goin'  to  be  my  Uncle,  ain't  you,  as 
soon  as  it's  a  little  over  a  year,  so  folks  won't  talk?" 

**W5KJ  told  ye  that?"  panted  Dannie,  hiding  behind  a 
nwse. 

"Nobody  told  me!  Mammy  just  said  it  to  Daddy,  and 
I  heard,"  answered  the  little  maid.  "And  I'm  glad  of  it, 
so  are  all  of  us  glad.  Mammy  said  she'd  just  love  to 


228        AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

come  here  now,  whin  things  would  be  like  white  folks. 
Mammy  said  Aunt  Mary  had  suffered  a  lot  more'n  he? 
share.  Say,  you  won't  make  her  suffer  any  more,  will  you  ? " 

"No,"  moaned  Dannie,  and  staggered  into  the  barn 
with  the  borses.  He  leaned  against  a  stall,  and  shut  his 
eyes.  He  could  see  the  bright  room,  plainer  than  ever, 
while  that  little  singing  bird  )unded  loud  as  any  thunder 
in  his  ears.  Whether  closed  or  open,  he  could  see  Mary, 
never  in  all  her  life  so  beautiful,  never  so  sweet;  flesh  and 
blood  Mary,  in  a  dainty  dresL,  with  the  shining,  unafraid 
eyes  of  girlhood.  It  was  that  thing  which  struck  Dannie 
first,  and  hit  him  hardest.  Mary  was  a  careless  girl  again. 
When  before  had  he  seen  her  with  neither  trouble,  anxiety, 
or,  worse  yet,  fear,  in  her  beautiful  eyes  ? 

She  had  come  to  stay.  She  would  not  have  refurnished 
her  cabin  otherwise.  Dannie  took  hold  of  the  manger 
with  both  hands,  because  his  sinking  knees  needed  bracing. 

"Dannie,"  called  Mary's  voice  in  the  doorway,  "has  my 
spickled  hin  showed  any  signs  of  setting  yet  ? " 

"  She's  been  over  twa  weeks,"  answered  Dannie.  "  She's 
in  that  barrel  there  in  the  corner." 

Mary  entered  the  barn,  removed  the  prop,  lowered  the 
board,  and  kneeling,  stroked  the  hen,  and  talked  softly  to 
her.  She  slipped  a  hand  under  the  hen,  and  lifted  her  to 
see  the  eggs.  Dannie  staring  at  Mary  noted  closer  the 
fresh,  cleared  skin,  the  glossy  hair,  the  delicately  coloured 
cheeks,  and  the  plumpness  of  the  bare  arms.  One  little 
wisp  of  curl  lay  against  the  curve  of  her  neck,  just  where  it 
showed  rose-pink,  and  seemed  honey  sweet.  In  one  great 
surge  the  repressed  stream  of  passion  in  the  strong  man 


DANNIE'S  RENUNCIATION  229 

broke,  until  Dannie  swayed  against  his  horse.  His  tongue 
stuck  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth,  while  he  caught  at  the  har- 
ness to  steady  himself,  as  he  strove  to  grow  accustomed  to 
the  fact  that  hell  had  opened  in  a  new  form  for  him.  The 
old  heart  hunger  for  Mary  Malone  was  back  in  stronger 
force  than  ever  before;  and  because  of  him  Jimmy  lay 
stretched  on  Five  Mile  Hill. 

"Dannie,  you  are  just  fine!"  said  Mary.  "I've  been  al- 
most wild  to  get  home,  because  I  thought  ivrything 
would  be  ruined,  and  instid  of  that  it's  all  ixactly  the  way  I 
do  it.  Do  hurry,  and  get  riddy  for  supper.  Oh,  it's  so 
good  to  be  home  again!  I  want  to  make  garden,  and  fix 
my  flowers,  and  get  some  little  chickens  and  turkeys  into 
my  fingers." 

"I  have  to  go  home,  and  wash,  and  spruce  up  a  bit,  for 
ladies,"  said  Dannie,  leaving  the  barn. 

Mary  made  no  reply,  so  it  came  to  him  that  she  expected 
it. 

"Damned  if  I  will!"  he  said,  as  he  started  home.  "If 
she  wants  to  come  here,  and  force  herself  on  me,  she  can, 
but  she  canna  mak'  me " 

Just  then  Dannie  stepped  in  his  door,  to  slowly  gaze 
around  him.  In  a  way  his  home  was  as  completely  trans- 
formed as  hers.  He  washed  his  face  and  hands,  then 
started  for  a  better  coat.  His  sleeping  room  shone  with 
clean  windows,  curtained  in  snowy  white.  A  freshly  ironed 
suit  of  underclothing  and  a  shirt  lay  on  his  bed.  Dannie 
stared  at  them. 

"She  thinks  I'll  tog  up  in  them,  and  come  courtiV,"  he 
growled.  "I'll  show  her  vf  I  do!  I  winna  touch  them  I" 


230       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

To  prove  that  he  would  not,  Dannie  caught  them  up  in  a 
wad,  throwing  them  into  a  corner.  That  showed  a  clean 
sheet,  fresh  pillow,  and  new  covers,  invitingly  spread  back. 
Dannie  turned  as  white  as  the  pillow  at  which  he  stared. 

"That's  a  damn  plain  insinuation  that  I'm  to  get  into 
ye,"  he  said  to  the  bed,  "  and  go  on  living  here.  I  dinna 
know  as  that  child's  jabber  counts.  For  all  I  know,  Mary 
may  already  have  picked  out  some  town  dude  to  bring  here 
and  farm  out  on  me,  and  they'll  live  with  the  bird  cage, 
while  I  can  go  on  climbin'  into  ye  alone." 

Here  was  a  new  thought.  Mary  might  mean  only  kind- 
ness to  him  again,  as  she  had  sent  word  by  Jimmy  she 
meant  years  ago.  He  might  lose  her  for  the  second  time. 
Again  a  wave  of  desire  struck  Dannie,  that  left  him  stagger- 
ing. 

"Ain't  you  comin',  Uncle  Dannie?"  called  the  child's 
voice  at  the  back  door. 

"What's  your  name,  little  lass?"  inquired  Dannie. 

"Tilly,"  answered  the  little  girl  promptly. 

"Well,  Tilly,  ye  go  tell  your  Aunt  Mary  I  have  been  in 
an  eelevator  handlin'  grain,  and  I'm  covered  wi'  fine  dusrt: 
and  chaff  that  sticks  me.  I  canna  come  until  I've  had  a 
bath,  and  put  on  clean  clothing.  Tell  her  to  go  ahead.** 

The  child  vanished.  In  a  second  she  was  back.  "She 
said  she  won't  do  it,  and  take  all  the  time  you  want.  But 
I  wish  you'd  hurry,  for  she  won't  let  me  either." 

Dannie  hurried.  But  the  hasty  bath  and  the  fresh 
clothing  felt  so  good  he  was  in  a  softened  mood  when  he 
approached  Mary's  door  again.  Tilly  was  waiting  on  the 
•tep,  and  ran  to  meet  him.  Tillv  was  delightful.  Almost, 


DANNIE'S  RENUNCIATION  231 

Dannie  understood  why  Mary  had  brought  her.  Tilly  led 
him  to  the  table;  pulled  back  a  chair  for  him,  while  he  lifted 
her  into  hers,  and  Mary  set  dish  after  dish  of  food  on  the 
table.  Tilly  filled  in  every  pause  that  threatened  to  grow 
awkward  with  her  chatter.  Dannie  had  been  a  very 
lonely  man,  and  he  did  love  Mary's  cooking.  Until  then 
he  had  not  realized  how  sore  a  trial  six  months  of  his  own 
had  been. 

"If  I  was  a  praying  mon,  I'd  ask  a  blessing,  and  thank 
God  fra  this  food,"  said  Dannie. 

"What's  the  matter  with  me?"  asked  Mary. 

"I  have  never  yet  found  anything.'*  answered  Dannie. 
"And  I  do  thank  ye  fra  everything.  I  believe  I'm  most 
thankful  of  all  fra  the  clean  clothes  and  the  clean  bed. 
Pm  afraid  I  was  neglectin'  myself,  Mary.1" 

"Will,  you'll  not  be  neglected  any  more,"  said  Mary. 
'Things  have  turned  over  a  new  leaf  here.  For  all  you 
give,  you  get  some  return,  after  this.  We  are  going  to  do 
business  in  a  businesslike  way,  and  divide  even.  I  liked 
that  bank  account  pretty  will,  Dannie.  Thank  you,  for 
that.  And  don't  think  I  spint  all  of  it.  I  didn't  spind  a 
hundred  dollars  all  togither.  Not  the  price  of  one  horse ! 
But  it  made  me  so  happy  I  could  fly.  Home  again,  and 
the  things  I've  always  wanted,  and  nothing  to  fear.  Oh, 
Dannie,  you  don't  know  what  it  manes  to  a  woman  to  be 
always  afraid!  My  heart  is  almost  jumping  out  of  my 
body,  just  with  pure  joy  that  the  old  fear  is  gone." 

"I  know  what  it  means  to  a  mon  to  be  afraid,"  said 
Dannie.  And  vividly  before  him  loomed  the  awful,  dis- 
torted, dying  face  of  Jimmy. 


232       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

Mary  guessed,  so  her  bright  face  clouded. 

"Some  day,  Dannie,  we  must  have  a  little  talk,**  she 
said,  "  and  clear  up  a  few  things  neither  of  us  understand. 
Til  thin  we  will  just  farm,  like  partners,  and  be  as  happy 
as  iver  we  can.  I  don't  know  as  you  mean  to,  but  if  you 
do,  I  warn  you  right  now  that  you  need  niver  mintion  th® 
name  of  Jimmy  Malone  to  me  again,  for  any  reason." 

Dannie  left  the  cabin  abruptly. 

"Now  you  gone  and  made  him  mad!"  reproached  Tilly, 

During  the  past  winter  Mary  had  lived  with  othtft 
married  people  for  the  first  time,  so  she  had  imbibed  sonne 
of  Mrs.  Dolan's  pi  'losophy. 

"Whin  he  smells  uie  biscuit  I  mane  to  make  for  breaks- 
fast,  he'll  get  glad  again,"  she  said. 

Dannie  went  home,  and  tried  to  learn  where  he  stoo«f. 
Was  he  truly  responsible  for  Jimmy's  death  ?  Yes.  If  he 
had  acted  like  a  man,  he  could  have  saved  Jimmy.  He  WAS 
responsible.  Did  he  want  to  marry  Mary?  Did  h<»? 
Dannie  reached  empty  arms  to  empty  space,  and  groaned 
aloud.  Would  she  marry  him?  Well,  now,  would  shu? 
After  years  of  neglect  and  sorrow,  Dannie  knew  that  Maty 
had  learned  to  prefer  him  to  Jimmy.  But  almost  any 
man  would  have  been  preferable  to  a  woman,  to  Jimmy. 
Jimmy  was  distinctly  a  man's  man.  A  jolly  good  fellow, 
but  he  would  not  deny  himself  anything,  no  matter  what 
it  cost  his  wife,  so  he  had  been  very  difficult  to  live  with. 
Dannie  admitted  that.  For  this  reason  Mary  had  come 
to  prefer  him  to  Jimmy,  that  was  sure;  but  it  was  not  a 
question  between  him  and  Jimmv  now.  It  was  between 
him  and  any  marriageable  man  that  Mary  might  fancy. 


DANNIE'S  RENUNCIATION  233 

He  had  grown  old,  gray,  and  wrinkled,  although  he  was 
under  forty.  Mary  had  grown  round,  and  young;  he  had 
never  seen  her  appear  so  beautiful.  Surely  she  would 
want  a  man  now  as  young,  and  as  fresh  as  herself;  and  she 
might  want  to  live  in  town  after  a  while,  if  she  grew  tired 
of  the  country.  Could  he  remember  Jimmy's  dreadful 
death,  realize  that  he  was  responsible  for  it,  and  then  try 
to  win  his  wife?  No,  she  was  sacred  to  jimmy.  Could  he 
live  beside  her,  and  lose  her  to  another  man  for  the  second 
time?  No,  she  belonged  to  him.  It  was  almost  day- 
I>jeak  when  Dannie  remembered  the  fresh  bed,  then  he  lay 
down  for  a  few  hours*  rest. 

But  there  was  no  rest  for  Dannie,  so  after  tossing  around 
until  dawn  he  be^n  his  work.  When  he  carried  the  milk 
into  the  cabin,  and  smelled  the  biscuits,  he  fulfilled  Mary's 
prophecy,  got  glad  again,  and  came  to  breakfast.  Then  he 
"7>mt  to  his  work. 

But  as  the  day  wore  on,  he  repeatedly  heard  the  voice  of 
die  woman  and  the  child,  combining  in  a  chorus  of  laugh- 
ter. From  the  little  front  porch,  the  green  bird  warbled 
and  trilled.  Neighbours  who  had  heard  of  her  return 
came  up  the  lane  to  welcome  a  happy  Mary  Malone,  The 
dead  dreariness  of  winter  melted  before  the  spring  sun, 
while  in  Dannie's  veins  the  warm  blood  swept  up,  as  the 
sap  flooded  the  trees,  so  in  spite  of  himself  he  grew  gladder 
and  yet  gladder. 

He  knew  now  how  he  had  missed  Mary;  how  he  had 
loathed  that  empty,  silent  cabin,  how  remorse  and  heart 
hunger  had  gnawed  at  his  vitals.  So  he  decided  that  he 
would  go  on  just  as  Mary  had  said,  and  let  things  drift;  an4 


234       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

when  she  was  ready  to  have  the  talk  with  him  she  had  men- 
tioned, he  would  hear  what  she  had  to  say.  As  he  thought 
over  these  things,  he  caught  himself  watching  for  furrows 
that  Jimmy  was  not  making  on  the  other  side  of  the  field. 

He  tried  to  talk  to  the  robins  and  blackbirds  instead  of 
Jimmy,  but  they  were  not  such  good  company.  When 
the  day  was  over,  he  tried  not  to  be  glad  that  he  was  going 
to  the  shining  eyes  of  Mary  Malone,  a  good  supper,  and  a 
clean  bed,  but  it  was  not  in  the  heart  of  man  to  do  that. 

The  summer  wore  on,  autumn  came,  and  the  year  Tilly 
had  spoken  of  was  past.  Dannie  went  his  way,  doing  the 
work  of  two  men,  thinking  of  everything,  planning  for 
everything,  and  he  was  all  the  heart  of  Mary  Malone  could 
desire,  save  her  lover.  By  little  Mary  pieced  out  the  situ- 
ation. Dannie  never  mentioned  fishing;  he  had  lost  his 
love  for  the  river.  She  knew  that  he  frequently  took  walks 
to  Five  Mile  Hill.  His  devotion  to  Jimmy's  memory  was 
unswerving.  So  at  last  it  came  to  her,  that  in  death  as  in 
life,  Jimmy  Malone  was  separating  them.  She  began  to 
realize  that  there  might  be  things  she  did  not  know.  What 
had  Jimmy  told  the  priest  ?  Why  had  Father  Michael  re- 
fused to  confess  Jimmy  until  he  sent  Dannie  to  him? 
What  had  passed  between  them?  If  it  were  what  she  had 
thought  all  year,  why  did  it  not  free  Dannie  to  her?  If 
there  were  something  more,  what  was  it? 

Surely  Dannie  loved  her.  Much  as  he  had  cared  for 
Jimmy,  he  had  vowed  that  everything  was  for  her  first. 
She  vras  eager  to  be  his  wife,  yet  something  bound  him. 
One  day,  she  decided  to  ask  him.  The  next,  she  shrank 
in  burning  confusion,  for  when  jimmy  Malone  hai  asked 


DANNIE'S  RENUNCIATION  235 

for  her  love,  she  had  admitted  to  him  that  she  loved  Dan- 
nie, and  Jimmy  had  told  her  that  it  was  no  use,  Dannie 
did  not  care  for  girls,  and  that  he  had  said  he  wished  she 
would  not  thrust  herself  upon  him.  On  the  strength  of 
that  statement  Mary  married  Jimmy  inside  five  weeks, 
then  spent  years  in  bitter  repentance. 

That  was  the  thing  which  held  her  now.  If  Dannie 
knew  what  she  did,  and  did  not  care  to  marry  her,  how 
could  she  mention  it?  Mary  began  to  grow  pale,  to  lose 
sleep,  so  Dannie  said  the  heat  of  the  summer  had  tired  her, 
and  suggested  that  she  go  to  Mrs.  Dolan's  for  a  week's 
rest.  The  fact  that  he  was  willing  and  possibly  anxious  to 
send  her  away  for  a  whole  week,  angered  Mary,  She  went. 


THE  POT  OF  GOLD 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  POT  OF  GOLD 

MARY  had  not  been  in  the  Dolan  home  an  hour 
until  Katie  knew  all  she  could  tell  of  her  trouble. 
Mrs.  Dolan  was  practical.  "Go  to  see  Father 
Michael,"  she  said.  "What's  he  for  but  to  hilp  us.  Go  ask 
him  what  Jimmy  told  him.  Till  him  how  you  feel  and 
what  you  know.  He  can  till  you  what  Dannie  knows  and 
thin  you  will  understand  where  you  are  at." 

Mary  was  on  the  way  before  Mrs.  Dolan  fully  finished. 
She  went  to  the  priest's  residence  and  asked  his  house- 
keeper to  inquire  if  he  would  see  her.  He  would,  so  Mary 
entered  his  presence  strangely  calm  and  self-possessed. 
This  was  the  last  fight  she  knew  of  that  she  could  make  for 
happiness;  if  she  lost,  happiness  was  over  for  her.  She 
had  need  of  all  her  wit  and  she  knew  it.  Father  Michael 
began  laughing  as  he  shook  hands. 

"Now  look  here,  Mary,"  he  said,  "Pve  been  expecting 
you.  I  warn  you  before  you  begin  that  I  cannot  sanction 
your  marriage  to  a  Protestant." 

"Oh,  but  I'm  going  to  convart  him!"  cried  Mary  so 
quickly  that  the  priest  laughed  louder  than  ever. 

"  So  that's  the  lay  of  the  land ! "  he  chuckled.  "  Well,  if 
you'll  guarantee  that,  I'll  give  in.  When  shall  I  read  the 
banns?" 


240       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

"Not  until  we  get  Dannie's  consint,"  answered  Mary, 
with  wavering  voice. 

Father  Michael  looked  his  surprise.  "Tut!  Tut!"  he 
said.  "And  is  Dannie  dilatory?5' 

"Dannie  is  the  finest  man  who  will  ever  live  in  this 
world,"  said  Mary,  "but  he  doesn't  want  to  marry  me.  i 

"To  my  certain  knowledge  Dannie  has  loved  you  all 
your  life,"  said  Father  Michael.  "He  wants  nothing  here 
or  hereafter  as  he  wants  to  marry  you." 

"Thin  why  doesn't  he  till  me  so?"  sobbed  Mary,  bury- 
ing her  burning  face  in  her  hands. 

"Has  he  said  nothing  to  you?"  gravely  inquired  the 
priest. 

"No,  he  hasn't  and  I  don't  belave  he  intinds  to,"  an- 
swered Mary,  wiping  her  eyes  ani  trying  to  be  composed. 
"There  is  something  about  Jimmy  that  is  holding  him 
back.  Mrs.  Dolan  thought  you  J,  help  me." 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do,  Mary?"  asked  Father 
Michael. 

"Two  things,"  answered  Mary  promptly.  "I  want  you 
to  tell  me  what  Jimmy  confessed  to  you  before  he  died,  and 
then  I  want  you  to  talk  to  Dannie  and  show  him  that  he  is 
free  from  any  promise  that  Jimmy  might  have  got  out  of 
him.  Will  you?" 

"A  dying  confession —      "  began  the  priest. 

"Yes,  but  I  know—  "  broke  in  Mary.  "I  saw  them 
figfct,  I  heard  Jimmy  tell  Dannie  that  he'd  lied  to  him  to 
separate  us,  but  he  turned  right  around  and  took  it  back 
and  I  knew  Dannie  belaved  him  thin;  but  he  can't  now 
after  Jimmy  confissed  it  again  to  both  of  vou." 


THE  POT  OF  GOLD  241 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'saw  them  fight?"  Father 
Michael  was  leaning  toward  Mary  anxiously. 

Mary  told  him. 

"Then  that  is  the  explanation  of  the  whole  thing,"  said 
the  priest.  "Dannie  did  believe  Jimmy  when  he  took  it 
back,  and  he  died  before  he  could  repeat  to  Dannie  what  he 
had  told  me.  And  I  have  had  the  feeling  that  Dannie 
thought  himself  in  a  way  to  blame  for  Jimmy's  death." 

"He  was  not!  Oh,  he  was  not!"  cried  Mary  Malone. 
"Didn't  I  live  there  with  them  all  those  years?  Dannie 
always  was  good  as  gold  to  Jimmy.  It  was  shameful  the 
way  Jimmy  imposed  on  him,  and  spint  his  money,  and  took 
me  from  him.  It  was  shameful!  Shameful!" 

"Becalm!  Be  calm!"  cautioned  Father  Michael.  "I 
agree  with  you.  I  am  only  trying  to  arrive  at  Dannie's 
point  of  view.  He  well  might  feel  that  he  was  responsible, 
if  after  humouring  Jimmy  like  a  child  all  his  life,  he  at  last 
!ost  his  temper  and  dealt  with  him  as  if  he  were  a  man.  If 
that  is  the  case,  he  is  of  honour  so  fine,  that  he  would  hesi- 
tate to  speak  to  you,  no  matter  what  he  suffered.  And 
then  it  is  clear  to  me  that  he  does  not  understand  how 
Jimmy  separated  you  in  the  first  place." 

"And  lied  me  into  marrying  him,  whin  I  told  him  over 
and  over  how  I  loved  Dannie.  Jimmy  Malone  took  ivry- 
thing  I  had  to  give,  and  he  left  me  alone  for  fiftane  years? 
with  my  three  little  dead  babies,  that  died  because  I'd  no 
heart  to  desire  life  for  thim,  and  he  took  my  youth,  and  he 

took  my  womanhood,  and  he  took  my  man *  Mary 

arose  in  primitive  rage.  "You  naden't  bother!"  she  said. 
"I'm  going  straight  to  Dannie  meself." 


242        AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

"  Don't ! "  said  Father  Michael  softly.  "  Don't  do  that, 
Mary!  It  isn't  the  accepted  way.  There  is  a  better! 
Let  him  come  to  you. " 

"But  he  won't  come!  He  doesn't  know!  He's  in 
Jimmy's  grip  tighter  in  death  than  he  was  in  life."  Mary 
began  to  sob  again. 

"He  will  come,"  said  Father  Michael.  "Be  calm! 
Wait  a  little,  mytrhild.  After  all  these  years,  don't  spoil  a 
love  that  has  been  almost  unequalled  in  holiness  and  beauty, 
by  anger  at  the  dead.  Let  me  go  to  Dannie.  We  are 
good  friends.  I  can  tell  him  Jimmy  made  a  confession  to 
me,  that  he  was  trying  to  repeat  to  him,  when  punishment, 
far  more  awful  than  anything  ou  have  suffered,  overtook 
him.  Always  remember  Mary,  he  died  unsh riven!" 
Mary  began  to  shiver.  "Your  suffering  is  over,"  con- 
tinued the  priest.  "You  have  many  good  years  yet  that 
you  may  spend  with  Dannie;  God  will  give  you  living 
children,  I  am  sure.  Think  of  the  years  Jimmy's  secret 
has  hounded  and  driven  him!  Think  of  the  penalty  he 
must  pay  before  he  has  a  glimpse  of  paradise,  if  he  be  not 
eternally  lost!" 

"I  have!"  exclaimed  Mary.  "And  it  is  nothing  to  the 
fact  that  he  took  Dannie  from  me,  and  yet  kept  him  in  my 
home  while  he  possessed  me  himsilf  for  years.  May  he 

burn " 

V'Mary!     Let  that  suffice!"  cried  the  priest.     "He  will! 
The  question  now  is,  shall  I  go  to  Dannie?" 

"Will  you  till  him  just  what  Jimmy  told  you ?  Will  you 
till  him  that  I  have  loved  him  always?" 

"Yes,"  said  Father  Michael. 


THE  POT  OF  GOLD  243 

"Will  you  go  now?" 

"I  cannot!  I  have  work.  I  will  come  early  in  the 
morning." 

"You  will  till  him  ivry thing?"  she  repeated. 

"I  will,"  promised  Father  Michael. 

Mary  went  back  to  Mrs.  Dolan's  comforted.  She  was 
eager  to  return  home  at  once,  but  at  last  consented  to 
spend  the  day.  Now  that  she  was  sure  Dannie  did  not 
know  the  truth,  her  heart  warmed  toward  him.  She  was 
anxious  to  comfort  and  help  him  in  the  long  struggle  she 
saw  he  must  have  endured.  By  late  afternoon  she  could 
bear  it  no  longer  and  started  back  to  Rainbow  Bottom  in 
time  to  prepare  supper. 

For  the  first  hour  after  Mary  had  gone  Dannie  whistled 
to  keep  up  his  courage.  By  the  second  he  had  no  courage 
to  keep.  By  the  third  he  was  indulging  in  the  worst  fit  of 
despondency  he  ever  had  known.  He  had  told  her  to  stay 
a  week.  A  week!  It  would  be  an  eternity!  There  alone 
again!  Could  he  endure  it?  He  got  through  to  mid- 
afternoon  some  way,  and  then  in  jealous  fear  and  fore- 
boding he  became  almost  frantic.  One  way  or  the  other, 
this  thing  must  be  settled.  Fiercer  raged  the  storm  within 
him  and  at  last  toward  evening  it  became  unendurable. 

At  its  height  the  curling  smoke  from  the  chimney  told 
him  that  Mary  had  come  home.  An  unreasoning  joy 
seized  him.  He  went  to  the  barn  and  listened.  He  could 
hear  her  moving  around  preparing  supper.  As  he  watched 
she  came  to  the  well  for  water  and  before  she  returned  to 
the  cabin  she  stood  looking  over  the  fields  as  if  trying  to 
locate  him.  Dannie's  blood  ran  hotly  and  his  pulses 


244       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

were  leaping.  "Go  to  her!  Go  to  her  now!"  demanded 
passion,  struggling  to  break  leash.  "You  killed  Jimmy! 
You  murdered  your  friend!"  cried  conscience,  with  un- 
yielding insistence.  Poor  Dannie  gave  one  last  glance  at 
Mary;  then  turned,  and  for  the  second  time  he  ran  from 
her  as  if  pursued  by  demons.  But  this  time  he  went 
straight  to  Five  Mile  Hill,  and  the  grave  of  Jimmy  Malone. 

He  sat  on  it,  and  within  a  few  feet  of  Jimmy's  bones, 
Dannie  took  his  tired  head  in  his  hands,  and  tried  to  think; 
for  the  life  of  him,  he  could  think  only  two  things:  that  he 
had  killed  Jimmy,  and  that  to  live  longer  without  Mary 
would  kill  him.  Hour  after  hour  he  fought  with  his  life- 
long love  for  Jimn\,  and  his  lifelong  love  for  Mary.  Night 
came  on,  the  frost  bit,  the  wind  chilled,  and  the  little  brown 
owls  screeched  among  the  gravestones,  while  Dannie 
battled  on.  Morning  came,  the  sun  arose,  and  shone 
on  Dannie,  sitting  numb  with  drawn  face  and  aching 
heart. 

Mary  prepared  a  fine  supper  the  night  before,  and  pa» 
tiently  waited.  When  Dannie  did  not  come,  she  con- 
cluded that  he  had  gone  to  town,  without  knowing  that  she 
had  returned.  Tilly  grew  sleepy,  so  she  put  the  child  to 
bed,  and  presently  she  went  herself.  Father  Michael 
would  make  everything  right  in  the  morning. 

But  in  the  morning  Dannie  was  not  there,  and  had  not 
been.  Mary  became  alarmed.  She  was  very  nervous  by 
the  time  Father  Michael  arrived.  He  decided  to  go  to  the 
nearest  neighbour,  and  ask  when  Dannie  had  been  seen 
last.  As  he  turned  from  the  lane  into  the  road  a  man  of 
that  neighbourhood  was  passing  on  his  wagon,  so  the 


THE  POT  OF  GOLD  445 

priest  hailed  him,  and  asked  if  he  knew  where  Dannie  Mac- 
noun  was. 

"Back  in  Five  Mile  Hill,  a  man  with  his  head  on  his 
knees,  is  a-settin*  on  the  grave  of  Jimmy  Malone,  and  I 
allow  that  would  be  Dannie  Macnoun,  the  big  fool!"  he 
said. 

Father  Michael  went  back  to  the  cabin,  and  told  Mary 
he  had  learned  where  Dannie  was,  that  she  should  have  no 
uneasiness,  as  he  would  go  to  see  him  immediately. 

"And  first  of  all  you'll  till  him  how  Jimmy  lied  to 
him?" 

"I  will ! "  said  the  priest. 

He  entered  the  cemetery,  walking  slowly  to  the  grave  of 
Jimmy  Malone.  Dannie  lifted  his  head,  and  stared  at 
him. 

"I  saw  you,"  said  Father  Michael,  "and  I  came  in  to 
speak  with  you."  He  took  Dannie's  hand.  "You  are 
here  at  this  hour  to  my  surprise." 

"I  dinna  know  that  ye  should  be  surprised  at  my  comin* 
to  sit  by  Jimmy  at  ony  time,"  coldly  replied  Dannie.  "  He 
was  my  only  friend  in  life,  and  another  mon  10  fine  I'll 
never  know.  I  often  come  here." 

The  priest  shifted  his  weight  from  one  foot  to  tht  other, 
then  he  sat  on  a  grave  near  Dannie.  "  For  a  year  I  have 
been  waiting  to  talk  with  you,"  he  said. 

Dannie  wiped  his  face,  and  lifting  his  hat,  ran  his  £ng«r« 
through  his  hair,  as  if  to  arouse  himself.  His  eyei  were 
dull  and  listless.  "I  am  afraid  I  am  no  fit  to  talk  sen- 
sibly," he  said.  "I  am  much  troubled.  Some  other 
time " 


246       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

"Could  you  tell  me  your  trouble?"  asked  Father 
Michael. 

Dannie  shook  his  head. 

"I  have  known  Mary  Malone  all  her  life,"  said  the 
priest  gently,  "and  been  her  confessor.  I  have  known 
Jimmy  Malone  all  his  life,  and  heard  his  dying  confession. 
I  know  what  it  was  he  was  trying  to  tell  you  when  he  died. 
Think  again!" 

Dannie  Macnoun  stood  up.  He  looked  at  the  priest 
intently.  "Did  ye  come  here  purposely  to  find  me?" 

"Yes." 

"What  do  ye  want  ? " 

"To  clear  your  mind  of  all  trouble,  to  fill  your  heart 
with  love,  and  great  peace,  and  rest.  Our  Heavenly 
Father  knows  that  you  need  peace  of  heart  and  rest, 
Dannie." 

"To  fill  my  heart  wi'  peace  ye  will  have  to  prove  to  me 
that  I'm  no  responsible  fra  the  death  of  Jimmy  Malone; 
and  to  give  it  rest  ye  will  have  to  prove  to  me  that  I'm  free 
to  marry  his  wife.  Ye  can  do  neither  of  those  things." 

"  I  can  do  both,"  said  the  priest  calmly.  " My  son,  that 
is  what  I  came  to  do." 

Dannie's  face  grew  whiter  and  whiter,  as  the  blood  re- 
ceded, while  his  big  hands  gripped  at  his  sides. 

"Aye,  but  ye  canna!"  he  cried  desperately.  "Ye 
cannal" 

"I  can,"  said  the  priest.  "Listen  to  me!  Did  Jimmy 
get  anything  at  all  said  to  you?" 

"He  said,  'Mary,'  then  he  choked  on  the  next  word, 
then  he  gasped  out  'yours/  and  it  was  over." 


THE  POT  OF  GOLD  247 

"Have  you  any  idea  what  he  was  trying  to  tell  you?*' 

"Na!"  answered  Dannie.  "He  was  mortal  sick,  and 
half  delirious,  so  I  paid  little  heed.  If  he  lived,  he  would 
tell  me  when  he  was  better;  if  he  died,  nothing  mattered, 
fra  I  was  responsible,  and  better  friend  mon  never  had. 
There  was  nothing  on  earth  Jimmy  would  na  have  done 
for  me.  He  was  so  big  hearted,  so  generous!  My  God, 
how  I  have  missed  him!  How  I  have  missed  him!" 

"Your  faith  in  Jimmy  is  strong,"  ventured  the  be- 
wildered priest,  for  he  did  not  see  his  way. 

Dannie  lifted  his  head.  The  sunshine  was  warming  him, 
so  his  thoughts  were  beginning  to  clear. 

"My  faith  in  Jimmy  Malone  is  so  strong,"  he  said,  "that 
if  I  lost  it,  I  never  should  trust  another  living  mon.  He 
had  his  faults  to  others,  I  admit  that,  but  he  never  had  ony 
to  me.  He  was  my  friend,  and  above  my  life  I  loved  him. 
I  wad  gladly  have  died  to  save  him." 

"And  yet  you  say  you  are  responsible  for  his  death!" 

"Let  me  tell  ye!"  cried  Dannie  eagerly,  then  he  began 
on  the  story  the  priest  wanted  to  hear  from  him.  As  he 
finished  Father  Michael's  face  cleared. 

"What  folly!"  he  said,  "that  a  man  of  your  intelligence 
should  torture  yourself  with  the  thought  of  responsibility 
in  a  case  like  that.  Any  one  would  have  claimed  the  fish 
in  those  circumstances.  Priest  that  I  am,  I  would  have 
had  it,  even  if  I  fought  for  it.  Any  man  would!  And  as 
for  what  followed,  it  was  bound  to  come!  He  was  a  tor- 
tured man,  and  a  broken  one.  If  he  had  not  lain  out  that 
night,  he  would  a  few  nights  later.  It  was  not  in  your 
power  to  save  him.  No  man  ran  be  saved  from  himself, 


248       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

Dannie.     Did    what    he   said    make    no   impression   on 
you?" 

"Enough  that  I  would  have  killed  him  with  my  naked 
hands  if  he  had  na  taken  it  back.  Of  course  he  had  to  re- 
tract! If  I  believed  that  of  Jimmy,  after  the  life  we  lived 
together,  I  would  curse  God  and  mon,  and  break  fra  thfc 
woods,  and  live  and  dee  there  alone/' 

"Then  what  was  he  trying  to  tell  you  when  he  died?" 
asked  the  bewildered  priest. 

"To  take  care  of  Mary,  I  judge." 

"Not  to  marry  her;  and  take  her  for  your  own?" 

Dannie  began  to  tremble. 

"Remember,  I  talked  with  him  first,"  said  Father 
Michael,  "  and  what  he  confessed  to  me,  he  knew  was  final. 
He  died  before  he  could  talk  to  you,  but  I  think  it  is  time 
to  tell  you  what  he  wanted  to  say.  He — he — was  trying — 
trying  to  tell  you  that  there  was  nothing  but  love  in  his 
heart  for  you.  That  he  did  not  in  any  way  blame  you. 
That — that  Mary  was  yours.  That  you  were  free  to  take 
her.  That- 

"  What  1 "  cried  Dannie  wildly.  "Are  ye  sure  ?  Oh,  my 
God!" 

"Perfectly  sure!"  answered  Father  Michael.  "Jimmy 
knew  how  long  and  faithfully  you  had  loved  Mary,  and  she 
Jiad  loved  you " 

"Mary  had  loved  me?     Carefu',  mon!    Are  ye  sure?" 

"I  know,"  said  Father  Michael  convincingly.  "I  give 
you  my  priestly  word,  I  know;  and  Jimmy  knew,  and  was 
altogether  willing.  He  loved  you  deeply,  as  he  could  love 
any  one,  Dannie,  and  he  blamed  you  fr-r  nothing  at  all. 


THE  POT  OF  GOLD  249 

The  only  thing  that  would  have  brought  Jimmy  any  com- 
fort in  dying  was  to  know  that  you  would  end  your  life 
with  Mary,  and  not  hate  his  memory." 

"  Hate ! "  cried  Dannie.  "  Hate !  Father  Michael,  if  ye 
have  come  to  tell  me  that  Jimmy  na  held  me  responsible 
fra  his  death,  and  was  willing  fra  me  to  have  Mary,  your 
face  looks  like  the  face  of  God  to  me!"  Dannie  gripped 
the  priest's  hand.  "Are  ye  sure?  Are  ye  sure,  mon?" 
He  almost  lifted  Father  Michael  from  the  ground. 

"I  tell  you,  I  know!     Go  and  be  happy!" 

"Some  ither  day  I  will  try  to  thank  ye,"  said  Dannie, 
turning  away.  "Noo,  Fm  in  a  little  of  a  hurry."  He  was 
halfway  to  the  gate  when  he  turned  back.  "Does  Mary 
know  this  ? "  he  asked. 

"She  does,"  said  the  priest.  "You  are  one  good  man, 
Dannie,  go  and  be  happy,  and  may  the  blessing  of  God  go 
with  you." 

Dannie  lifted  his  hat. 

"And  Jimmy,  too,"  he  said,  "put  Jimmy  in,  Father 
Michael." 

"May  the  peace  of  God  rest  the  troubled  soul  of  Jimmy 
Malone,"  said  Father  Michael,  and  not  being  a  Catholic, 
Dannie  did  not  know  that  from  the  blessing  for  which  he 
asked. 

He  hurried  away  with  the  brightness  of  dawn  on  his 
lined  face,  which  looked  almost  boyish  under  his  whitening 
hair. 

Mary  Malone  was  at  the  window.  Turmoil  and  bitter- 
ness were  beginning  to  burn  in  her  heart  again.  Maybe 
the  priest  had  not  found  Dannie.  Maybe  he  was  not 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

coming.  Maybe  a  thousand  things.  Then  he  was  com- 
ing. Coming  straight  and  sure.  Coming  across  the 
fields;  leaping  fences  at  a  bound.  Coming  with  such 
speed  and  force  as  comes  the  strong  man,  fifteen  years 
denied.  Mary's  heart  began  to  jar,  and  thump,  while 
waves  of  happiness  surged  over  her.  Then  she  saw  that 
look  of  dawn,  of  serene  delight  on  the  face  of  the  man,  so 
she  stood  aghast.  Dannie  threw  wide  the  door,  and  crossed 
her  threshold  with  outstretched  arms. 

"Is  it  true?"  he  panted.  "The  thing  Father  Michael 
told  me,  is  it  true?  Will  ye  be  mine,  Mary  M alone ?  At 
last  will  you  be  mine  ?  Oh,  my  girl,  is  the  beautiful  thing 
that  the  priest  told  me  true  ? " 

"  The  beautiful  thing  that  the  priest  told  him  !" 

Mary  Malone  swung  a  chair  before  her,  and  stepped 
back.  "Wait!"  she  cried  sharply.  "There  must  be  some 
mistake.  Till  me  ixactly  what  Father  Michael  told  you  ? " 

"He  told  me  that  Jimmy  na  held  me  responsible  fra  his 
death.  That  he  loved  me  when  he  died.  That  he  was 
willing  I  should  have  ye!  Oh,  Mary,  wasna  that  splendid 
of  him.  Wasna  he  a  grand  mon?  Mary,  come  to  me. 
Say  that  it's  true!  Tell  me,  if  ye  love  me." 

Mary  Malone  stared  wide-eyed  at  Dannie,  while  she 
gasped  for  breath. 

Dannie  came  closer.  At  last  he  had  found  his  tongue. 
"  Fra  the  love  of  mercy,  if  ye  are  comin*  to  me,  come  noo, 
Mary,"  he  begged.  "My  arms  will  split  if  they  dinna  get 
round  ye  soon,  dear.  Jimmy  told  ye  fra  me,  sixteen  years 
ago,  how  I  loved  ye,  and  he  told  me  when  he  came  back 
how  sorry  ye  were  fra  me,  and  he — he  almost  cried  when  he 


THE  POT  OF  GOLD  251 

told  me.  I  never  saw  a  mon  feel  so.  Grand  old  Jimmy! 
No  other  mon  like  him!" 

Mary  drew  back  in  desperation. 

"  You  see  here,  Dannie  Micnoun ! "  she  screamed.  "You 
see  here ' 

"I  do,"  broke  in  Dannie.  "I'm  lookin'!  All  I  ever 
saw,  or  see  now,  or  shall  see  till  I  dee  is  'here,'  when  'here* 
is  ye,  Mary  Malone.  Oh!  If  a  woman  ever  could  under- 
stand what  passion  means  to  a  mon!  If  ye  knew  what  I 
have  suffered  through  all  these  years,  you'd  end  it,  Mary 
Malone." 

Mary  gave  the  chair  a  shove.  "Come  here,  Dannie," 
she  said.  Dannie  cleared  the  space  between  them. 
Mary  set  her  hands  against  his  breast.  "One  minute,'* 
she  panted.  "Just  one!  I  have  loved  you  all  me  life,  me 
man.  I  niver  loved  any  one  but  you.  I  niver  wanted 
any  one  but  you.  I  niver  hoped  for  any  Hivin  better  than 
I  knew  I'd  find  in  your  arms.  There  was  a  mistake. 
There  was  an  awful  mistake,  when  I  married  Jimmy.  I'm 
not  tillin*  you  now,  and  I  niver  will,  but  you  must  realize 
that!  Do  you  understand  me?" 

"Hardly,"  breathed  Dannie.     "Hardly!" 

"Will,  you  can  take  your  time  if  you  want  to  think  it 
out,  because  that's  all  I'll  iver  till  you.  There  was  a  hor- 
rible mistake.  It  was  you  I  loved,  and  wanted  to  marry. 
Now  bend  down  to  me,  Dannie  Micnoun,  because  I'm 
going  to  take  your  head  on  me  breast  and  kiss  your  dear 
face  until  I'm  tired,"  said  Mary  Malone. 

An  hour  later  Father  Michael  came  leisurely  down  the* 
lane,  the  peace  of  God  upon  him. 


252       AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

A  radiant  Mary  went  to  meet  him. 

"You  didn't  till  him!"  she  cried  accusingly.  "You 
didn't  till  him!" 

The  priest  laid  a  hand  on  her  head. 

"Mary,  the  greatest  thing  in  the  whole  world  is  self- 
sacrifice,"  he  said.  "The  pot  at  the  foot  of  the  rainbow  is 
just  now  running  over  with  the  pure  gold  of  perfect  con- 
tentment. But  had  you  and  I  done  such  a  dreadful  thing 
as  to  destroy  the  confidence  of  a  good  man  in  his  friend, 
your  heart  never  could  know  such  joy  as  it  now  knows  in 
this  sacrifice  of  yours;  and  no  such  blessed,  shining  light 
could  illumine  your  face.  That  is  what  I  wanted  to  see. 
I  said  to  myself  as  I  came  along:  'She  will  try,  but  she  will 
learn,  as  I  did,  that  she  cannot  look  in  his  eyes  and  un- 
deceive him.  And  when  she  becomes  reconciled,  her  face 
will  be  so  good  to  see.'  And  it  is.  You  did  not  tell  him 
either,  Mary  Malone!" 


TME    END 


DATE  DUE 


-N6V- 


JAN2     mi  9 


m 


FEB27B78 


197 


980 


44&4AAS 


MAR  31 


^^flfS 


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